Chapter Five
C olonel Fitzwilliam found his cousin occupying a stone bench in the gardens behind the mansion, staring at the clouds overhead. “Move over,” he said.
Mr. Darcy complied, and the Colonel sat beside him. In silence, they watched starlings flying overhead and squirrels running up and down tree trunks. Two squirrels began quarreling and one turned and ran off. Both men laughed aloud.
“He probably refused to propose to his cousin, poor idiot,” Mr. Darcy said. “And then ran away like a coward.”
“Poor idiot? No, probably lucky idiot,” the Colonel replied. “And certainly no coward.”
“What happened after I left?”
“Aunt Catherine pronounced that you had simply decided to wait for a more romantic setting; Anne agreed that she would prefer you to be on bended knee when you begged for the honour of her hand.”
Mr. Darcy sighed heavily.
Richard continued, “Tell me, please, that you have come to your senses and have decided not to marry Anne.”
“Richard, how can I not? It seems everyone’s happiness depends on my doing so.”
“Truly? Everyone’s happiness?”
Mr. Darcy ticked off names on his fingers. “My mother. Aunt Catherine. Anne. Probably my father’s ghost, which is floating about somewhere, waiting for me to do what is expected of me.”
“And your happiness?”
“When has that ever mattered, Richard?” Mr. Darcy spoke softly.
“Whatever can you mean?”
Mr. Darcy turned to face the Colonel. “Do you know, Cousin, no one has ever asked me what it is that I want out of life?”
The Colonel considered this carefully before replying. “You were born to be the Master of Pemberley; you had no choice in the matter. But, Darcy, the same is true of all of us. My elder brother was born to eventually become the Earl of Matlock. I was born to be the second son, with no title or fortune. Our positions are chosen for us at birth. But there is still an opportunity to make choices within the confines of those positions.”
“What choices?”
“As the second son, I had the choice to go into the law, the church, the army, or the navy. I have the ability to choose my own wife, though there are financial realities to consider. You, Darcy, must be the Master of Pemberley; in that, there is no choice. But, heavens, man, at least choose your own wife!”
Mr. Darcy rubbed his hands over his face. “Cousin, I do not much care about disappointing Aunt Catherine. I do not wish to disappoint Anne, but that wish does not guide my actions. But my mother has suffered enough, and I would never wish to cause her more pain.”
“Darcy, I would never advise you to harm your mother in any way. But…” And here the Colonel hesitated, knowing that he must choose his words with care. “But does it not seem to you rather unusual that her happiness is linked to your choice of wife? Should her happiness not instead be linked to your own happiness?”
Mr. Darcy rose to his feet. “Richard, I know you mean well. But I cannot let you speak ill of my mother. You do not know what she has endured since my father passed away.”
“Darcy, it has been three years.”
But Mr. Darcy was already returning to the house.