Chapter 22
August 1816
Rosings Park
Kent
Darcy and Fitzwilliam were permitted into the bedchamber where Anne lay dying. She looked horribly pale, her eyes were unfocused, and there was a foul, putrid smell in the room. Darcy couldn't stand to be there very long, and neither could Fitzwilliam, so they left after saying some words of farewell.
"I doubt she could hear us, I daresay," Fitzwilliam said somberly after they went to the billiards room to have a drink.
"Don't say that," Darcy muttered darkly. He had a lot of guilt clouding over his mind at the sight of Anne. He couldn't help but see Lady Catherine's devastated face and remember her words in the letter, how she wished that they had married so many years before. It had only come up one time, later on his annual visit in the spring of 1813, a whole year after his disastrous proposal to Elizabeth.
"Darcy, it's time. You have made Anne wait long enough," the lady had said then. Darcy had shaken his head.
"I will not propose to her, Lady Catherine. Not now, not ever."
Lady Catherine had been so angry, she demanded he leave Rosings at once. And so he did, and she didn't speak to him for a year afterward. She finally wrote in the spring of 1814, stating she was looking forward to his annual visit, a tacit welcome back. So he went back, and she spoke nothing of the supposed betrothal any longer.
Darcy wondered if he ought to have married Anne, and if his failure to do so impacted her health negatively. If the young lady had been in love with him, did it worsen her to know he would never propose?
"Why shouldn't I say it? We know it's the truth, most likely," Fitzwilliam said, bringing Darcy out of his reverie. "Seeing Anne at death's door like that—and that foul smell! Blast it if I ever see a lady in such a state again. It is one thing to see men in such a way, on the battlefield, but a lady—I wish I hadn't been sent for."
Darcy turned and glared at Fitzwilliam. "Must you be so insensitive? The lady is dying.”
Fitzwilliam raised his hands defensively and said, "Calm down, man. She is our cousin, it is true, and her death is sad, yes, but are you really so very surprised? Anne has lacked vitality for many an age. Her whole life, I daresay. It's a wonder she made it this far."
Darcy didn't reply but he did shoot the colonel another disgruntled look. Fitzwilliam examined him curiously, coming over to stand before him.
"What?" Darcy asked in growing annoyance.
"Did you love Anne after all?"
Darcy frowned. "I loved her as one loves his cousin, yes."
"I see."
"Fitzwilliam, you vex every man alive. There is nothing to see."
"I see."
This agitated Darcy, and he knew Fitzwilliam likely could tell. He turned away and poured himself a glass of port from the cabinet. Fitzwilliam was at his side, joining him.
"I see that you never loved Anne."
Darcy didn't answer. He didn't like where this conversation was leading. Fitzwilliam went on.
"Perhaps you are wondering, however, whether you ought to have married our cousin, regardless."
Darcy drank his port and spoke nothing.
"Perhaps you are wondering if somehow, she is up there dying of a broken heart—"
"Enough."
Darcy finished his glass and made to depart the room, to get away from how eerily close to reading his mind Fitzwilliam was. He didn't want to reveal that yes, he did indeed feel guilty. Yes, he did indeed wonder if he should have married Anne. Yes, he did indeed have some concern for the idea that perhaps his refusal to marry her broke the lady's heart.
But he couldn't have ever married Anne while Elizabeth Bennet still remained unmarried herself. And even if she had married—but he didn't like to think about that.
He always harbored some hope for a second chance with the lady, and when he was at Netherfield, it seemed that his second chance was around the corner. Elizabeth had been so kind: she invited him to see them more in the future, she called him a tender man, a good man, a kind man. He nearly told Elizabeth how no, he did not marry Miss de Bourgh, because his feelings lied elsewhere, because his heart belonged to her, and no one else in the world could take it.
Perhaps it was the hand of God that made Bingley appear at that very moment to split them up for good. As the days would soon pass at Rosings, as Darcy would be caught up in settling the matter of the new heir (Anne having apparently named Colonel Fitzwilliam as her successor to the Rosings estate), he would eventually receive a letter from Bingley. It was a short note, urgently explaining how the newest babe—a boy—had been born a month in advance and was in a precarious way; it told that Mrs. Bingley and Elizabeth were doing all they could to take care of the babe and help it survive.
Thus, Darcy knew going back to Netherfield was not an option.
And as he stayed away from Netherfield, the guilt over Anne's death slowly ate at him while he resided at Rosings. Darcy began to consider, more and more, that perhaps his cousin may never have died, had they married. He hadn't previously ever really thought Anne loved him—but what if she had? What if his rejection of her was what slowly brought on her demise?
The weight of such a question always increased every time he thought about Elizabeth—he felt like he was committing a crime for thinking about another woman, when apparently his own selfish behavior might have led to the death of Anne. He had a hard time looking Lady Catherine in the face for many months. He endeavored to show Fitzwilliam everything he needed to know about Rosings, as quickly and as efficiently as he could, because Darcy wanted—no, needed—to be done with Rosings as soon as he could. The pain and the weight of it all was too much; he needed to retreat to Pemberley and forget about what he had done here.