Chapter Eighteen #4
Anne cozied up beside Penelope on the sofa. “It was very sportive of Miss Denham to come to me last night. I doubt I could have persuaded her against accepting the money, even if I had wished to. Well, I hope it buys her a modicum of joy with that idiot.”
“Nobody could be in any doubt that you and he were finished, after the picnic,” Penelope said. “You each did one another a great service, and at your mother’s expense!”
Anne sighed at the recollection of that event, and what had transpired before it.
The wretched brute had not denied her claim that he would likely take mistresses, but had been outraged at discovering Anne and Penelope sharing a tender embrace just before the picnic.
What a coup it had been, walking out onto the terrace outside the ballroom last night and discovering him in just such a pose with Miss Denham, and the two ladies had agreed.
Anne had chosen well in asking Sir Thomas Parker to accompany her outdoors when she became suddenly and conveniently unwell, for Sir Anthony Denham was an oily, grasping cad, who might have taken advantage of his cousin rather than press Sir Sidney to marry Miss Denham after compromising her.
But the elder brother had been all prudence and lectures, and Sir Sidney was compelled to act with honor.
“Rather at my expense,” Anne drawled. “But if I celebrate my birthday unwed, I shall say it was money well spent.” She leaned over and kissed the tip of Penelope’s nose, laughing playfully. “We are turned matchmakers, just like that vulgar old widow!”
Penelope had just reached up to stroke Anne’s hair and kiss her lips when the door to the suite flew open. Before the two women could separate, Fitzwilliam Darcy thundered into the room and gaped at them like a madman. “Anne,” he bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
Anne laced her fingers through Penelope’s as she glared up at him. “It is something I would have told you of years ago, if I had not been certain you would behave so beastly! Penelope and I….”
And then Anne saw the letter in his hand; it bore Penelope’s flawless script. It was the letter she had dispatched to Miss Lucas yesterday, and she felt her heart sink to know that it had not reached the lady. She stood and took it from Darcy, smoothing the crumpled paper. “Where did you get this?”
“From Lady Parker, formerly Miss Charlotte Lucas,” Darcy spat. “She answered your disgraceful advertisement on behalf of her dearest friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Anne staggered backward, nearly tumbling into Penelope’s lap as she burst out laughing. “You are joking! Miss Bennet? Oh, it is too much!”
Darcy grimaced at her. “I daresay you have found this excessively diverting from the very start!”
“Now you are joking,” Anne said bitterly. “From the very start, I have found the betrothal forced upon me entirely unappealing, as you might have been told had you consulted me instead of making bargains behind my back, with my horrid mother!”
“I had no choice!”
Anne sprang back to her feet as she shouted at him.
“I have never had a choice about anything, ever, in the whole course of my life! The only thing I have ever had of my own is my love for Penelope, which must be kept a secret from the world. You are Darcy of Pemberley, and may traverse the world as you damn well please! Why, Darcy, when you might have had anyone—why did it have to be me?”
Darcy was red faced with rage at her raillery, but as her voice began to crack with emotion, his countenance softened from fury to confusion. “Good God, do you not know?”
Anne shook her head, her body tensing as she sensed some terrible revelation. “What?”
Darcy chewed his lip for a moment, his eyes darting about as he considered what to say to her. “Your mother discovered a secret, when we were all in London after the earl died. She blackmailed me, Anne. I had no choice but to betroth myself to you, to protect….”
“To protect your sister?” Anne let out a low gasp. “And that is why Georgiana despises me. Oh, do not look at me like that, Darcy. You have just discovered my own greatest secret—and I must thank you for not making a great thing of it—I would not add disgust to your present ire.”
Darcy’s wild look had cooled, and he glanced with pensive bewilderment between Anne and Penelope, who had crossed the room to lock the door and lean against it, a reminder that Lady Catherine might return at any time.
“I am sure I would wish you joy if your mother was not holding an axe over my neck,” he snarled.
“At any rate, I have other reasons to think the worst of you, after such deception. I have been entirely deceived in your character, in your feelings toward me, and have been manipulated into falling in love with a woman who does not exist!”
“You have fallen in love with Elizabeth Bennet, apparently. I should wish you joy,” Anne quipped with a grin.
“You mock me, just as you belittled me in refusing to even attempt to write to me yourself. I know we have never been close; resigned as I was to our union, I hoped that the correspondence might give us a chance of knowing one another better. But you dismissed me from the very beginning, you thought nothing of my willingness to foster some affection between us.”
“I would never have grown to love you, Darcy,” Anne cried, making an impatient gesture at the woman she adored. “What was I to do, put that in writing?”
Anne could see that this logical argument had only incensed him; she tried another approach, taking a few furious steps toward him as she extended her disfigured left hand for him to see.
“I cannot write, Darcy. My father allowed me to favor my left, while he was alive. My mother thought it a sign of my wickedness, and a month after Papa died, my fingers were poorly set by the village quack she summoned after slamming my hand in a door jam. My penmanship looks like that of a child, and I am ashamed of it.” Hot tears streamed down her face; it was yet another way her mother infantilized her.
Darcy’s anger seemed to wilt as his posture relaxed. “Good God, I had no idea she was as cruel as that.”
“There is a great deal you do not know,” Anne sighed. He seemed nearly ready to be reasonable, and she had a sudden desire to unburden herself, to tell him everything. A glance at Penelope was enough.
Penelope moved away from the door and scooped up the little dog Sir Sidney had gifted Anne. “I shall take little Contessa for a walk; perhaps I may detain your mother if I see her returning.”
Anne smiled gratefully at Penelope and gestured for Darcy to sit with her.
Over the next quarter hour, she told him as much as she could without being cruel, and by the end of it she had reason to hope that he was more sympathetically inclined.
“If you did not know about the blackmail, I can understand how you might resent being left out of the negotiations for our betrothal,” he admitted.
“I am not surprised at it, but very sorry for it. If she will not release you even now, what are we to do? Shall we carry on pretending, until I am at liberty to break it off?”
“I doubt your mother will allow any further delay, with Sir Sidney gone. Forgive me, I trust you have heard of it?”
She chortled. “Mother does not know that I am aware of her involvement in bringing the elopement about; I gave Miss Denham my blessing when she asked it of me. She is a strange creature, but still deserves better than Sir Sidney.”
Darcy frowned. “You encouraged it? You twist me up with pity for you, but your machinations do real harm, Anne.”
She let out a huff of exasperation. “Have I not sufficiently redeemed myself with my good intentions?” She gestured with the letter she still held in her hand and then let out a squeak of surprise when she saw that the seal had not been broken. “You idiot, Darcy! You did not read it?”
“I know what it says. Lady Parker suspected you of being involved with Miss Penny and bid you write to me in order to expose you.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Clever. She would have made a fearsome sister-in-law. Oh! But you suppose I wrote to Miss Lucas for another love letter to woo you back after quarreling with Sir Sidney? Ha! Because your false courtship of Miss Bennet was sure to inspire my envy!”
He blanched. “You knew?”