Chapter 17
Pemberley had a powerful effect on Darcy, most of all the library, with its silence and its memories of his parents and his childhood.
He was sad, but not as much as he had expected.
The next day, he intended to ride over the estate, to look into the works in progress, and to begin to think seriously of what was to come.
Only one thing troubled him—the coming night, and his first hours with Anne. He had urged her to rest, to sleep, and to take everything at her own pace.
Mrs Jenkinson had been settled in rooms not far from Anne’s, and that closeness, he hoped, would comfort her.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. His butler stood there with an unexpected message.
“Mrs Darcy wishes to see you, sir. Shall I bring her here, or to the little parlour?”
The little parlour was near the library, a room his mother had loved, where she would read or receive her closest friends.
“To the little parlour, Miller.”
The butler bowed and withdrew. Darcy opened the door between the two rooms. As always, fresh flowers had been placed beneath his mother’s portrait.
The greenhouse provided them throughout the year—one of the prides of Pemberley.
They even grew oranges and dates there, rare in that part of the country.
He thought Anne might enjoy walking there in the colder months, when the wind was sharp and the days unkind.
She came soon after. She knocked, as she had been taught, and again he noticed how light her step was.
He welcomed her with a smile, and she returned it—so different from the timid, anxious woman she had been at Rosings. On impulse, he kissed her hand, then invited her to sit in an armchair facing Lady Anne Darcy’s portrait.
Anne looked at her aunt’s image with quiet affection.
“She was beautiful,” she said. “Now that I see her, I remember her so clearly.”
“You were…what…twelve when she died?”
“Yes. She was a grand lady. Even my mother would smile when they met.”
Darcy remembered those moments well; there had been ease in them, even warmth.
“Now, my dear,” he said, “what can I do for you? Shall I show you the house?”
Anne shook her head. “No. I have something to speak to you about.”
She fell silent. It was plainly not an easy subject. Outside, the light was fading, and he wondered whether she meant only to delay the moment when he must attend her to her room.
“If it is about the wedding night—” he began.
“No,” she said quickly.
He studied her. She was gathering courage. But if not that—what could it be?
“It is not easy to tell you the truth,” she said, growing even paler.
He felt, for the first time, a real concern. “What truth? What are you trying to tell me?”
“I know you do not love me…”
“Anne,” he said, startled, “what do you mean? Marriage is not always built on romantic love.”
“Of course not. But all this time I have asked myself—why did you want to marry me?”
“We are married. Does the reason matter so much? I shall be a good husband, and I ask you to be a good wife. We may come to care for one another in time.”
“I am trying to be honest with you. The thought that you love another woman…helps me.”
At that, his attention sharpened at once. She looked so innocent, so untouched by the world, that he could not imagine what she was about to confess.
For one moment, a troubling thought crossed his mind. Could she—? No. He could not picture her with another man. Perhaps someone had forced himself upon her, as Wickham had once intended with his sister.
“You could not have known this, but when my father died, he made very clear provisions in his will, in agreement with Lord Matlock.”
“And not with Lady Catherine,” Darcy exclaimed, surprised.
“Exactly. Rosings Park was settled directly on me, entirely in my possession at one and twenty, with Lord Matlock as sole trustee—but with far greater authority than a usual trustee. He has the right to decide what is to be done with my estate in any situation not expressly covered by the will.”
Darcy listened with growing astonishment.
It was nothing like what he had believed all these years, when he had assumed that Lady Catherine alone held full control.
As for the marriage settlement, he had signed it without troubling himself with Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s will.
Rosings had never interested him, and he had left everything in his uncle’s hands, certain that Lord Matlock would always act to keep the estate within the family.
“My husband was to take control of the estate and the income, while Lady Catherine was to receive a very generous allowance for the rest of her life, along with the right to live at Rosings.”
“But she has acted as trustee all this time.”
“Yes. Lord Matlock allowed her to act in his stead—not strictly regular, but it was a family matter, and no one thought to question it. My mother did everything she could to keep me the weak, helpless creature she had raised, so that she might retain full control. She would never have allowed me to marry anyone but you, because she knew that in your case you would not come to live at Rosings, and even if you had taken an interest in managing the estate, she would still have remained its mistress.”
“She has always been skilled at making plans.”
Anne smiled.
“It seems, without intending it, she has passed that skill on to me as well.”
“Anne, tell me plainly what you have to say,” he pleaded. “Let us not prolong this.”
He felt it would not be quickly done.
“When you proposed to me, I could hardly believe it…”
He stared at her. She spoke of the event as if marriage had been a stroke of luck—without regard to the man himself.
“For a long time, I have tried to find a way to escape my mother’s control.”
“And you have. She will have no power over you here. You are safe with me.”
“I know, and I am grateful…and I am sorry for what I must say. I accepted your proposal only to be free of her”—she hesitated—“not to be your wife.”
Darcy rose abruptly. At the movement, Anne flinched, raising her hands slightly, as if to protect herself. The gesture struck him at once.
“Be calm,” he said quickly. “You are safe. Nothing will happen to you here. Only tell me what you mean.”
His unease deepened. Anne hesitated, then forced herself to go on.
“I had no hope of having a life of my own. So I decided to leave my mother…to run away, with only what I could gather over the past year.”
“Run away? Where?”
“I was not alone. Mrs Jenkinson helped me. She had some money as well.”
“Anne—please—stop a moment. Here, with me, you are safe. Why should it be so difficult to begin a new life—a good one? We could have a happy home, children…we need never see your mother again.”
“That can never be. She would always find a way to interfere. But that is not the point. I agree it could be a pleasant life—but I do not wish to be your wife.”
A deep silence filled the room. The house itself seemed unusually still. Only then did Darcy notice the absence of its usual sounds.
“I do not understand,” he said at last. “I did not marry you for show. I want a real marriage—a home, children, a place in society. I have been completely honest with you.”
“And I thank you for that. You were honest. But you do not love me.”
“You are my cousin. Of course I care for you.”
“You know that is not what I mean. Let me tell you everything, and then you may decide what to do. Mrs Jenkinson and I had planned to go to America.”
“What are you saying, Anne?”
“Yes. Nearly a year ago. We prepared papers to travel as mother and daughter. In Philadelphia, one of her brothers would receive us.”
Darcy sank into a chair. It felt unreal.
“And if I had not proposed…?”
“We would most likely have gone already.”
“Then why marry me, if everything had already been decided?”
“When we chose to leave, I was prepared to lose my fortune. By my father’s will, I held the whole only if both my mother and Lord Matlock approved of my marriage; otherwise, the greater part would pass, upon Lady Catherine’s death, to Sir Lewis’s nephews—the eldest inheriting Rosings—while I would be left with a comparatively modest income. ”
“And?” Darcy urged her to continue.
“Mama and Lord Matlock had no intention of allowing the estate to pass to my father’s family. I needed a husband, but Mama would never have accepted a man of my own choosing. For some time, I had reason to believe she was already seeking one for me—”
“And would that have been so dreadful? Many women marry without love and are content in marriage.”
“With a man chosen by my mother, entirely subject to her? I think not. I should only have exchanged one master for two…to live all my life as I have lived it until now.”
Darcy inclined his head in agreement. He had begun to see Lady Catherine for what she truly was—a cold, calculating woman, concerned only with her own interests, and wholly indifferent to her daughter.
“You were the ideal solution, in more ways than one.”
Darcy did not fully grasp her meaning yet. He remained silent, watching her, and waited for her to explain.
“When you were at Rosings with Cousin Richard, I overheard a conversation. There is a small room in our library, where my father’s secretary once worked.
I sometimes read there. One evening, I was there.
I know I should not have listened, but I knew so little of the world…
and I was curious. You spoke of having proposed to Miss Elizabeth—and that she had refused you. ”
Darcy said nothing. He would hear her to the end.
Anne, no longer afraid, went on with growing steadiness.
“You left the next morning, and Miss Elizabeth came to dinner that afternoon. Believe me, she did not look happy, nor indifferent.
“She was angry,” Darcy murmured.
“No, she looked plainly unhappy. Mrs Jenkinson and I both agreed that she bitterly regretted her refusal.”
“Mrs Jenkinson knows as well?” he asked, and for the first time there was anger in him, though he did not let it show.