CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Anne De Bourgh Writes a Letter
Elizabeth did not expect a letter from Anne de Bourgh.
She had only heard of Anne de Bourgh from Darcy and his family. The letter arrived on thick cream paper with no elaborate flourish.
Dear Miss Bennet,
I hope you will forgive the liberty of my writing. My mother has spoken so often of your engagement that I feel I know far more about it than good manners should permit...
Elizabeth smiled.
Anne continued: I wish to assure you that I have never believed myself engaged to my cousin Darcy.
My mother believed it with sufficient conviction for both of us.
Darcy has always treated me with kindness, but we would make one another miserable before breakfast. I congratulate you sincerely, particularly because you seem capable of making him laugh, an accomplishment I have rarely observed outside Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence.
There was more.
Anne thanked Elizabeth indirectly for whatever the Earl had said to Lady Catherine.
My uncle has requested that the Rosings accounts be reviewed before I assume greater responsibility for the estate. My mother is offended. I am relieved. I find relief and guilt can inhabit the same chair quite comfortably.
Elizabeth read that sentence twice.
Darcy found her in the breakfast parlour.
“Bad news?”
“No. Your cousin Anne has written.”
He stopped. “Anne?”
Elizabeth held out the letter after a moment. “She has written nothing I think she would object to your seeing.”
Darcy read it.
His expression softened. “I should have spoken to her sooner.”
“About your aunt’s plans?”
“Yes.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“Perhaps not. But silence allowed Lady Catherine to speak as though Anne and I had agreed.”
Elizabeth leaned against the table. “There is that troublesome habit again.”
He looked at her.
“Silence.”
“Yes.”
“I am improving.”
“Slowly.”
“Your encouragement is overwhelming.”
She smiled.
Darcy folded the letter carefully. “Anne has always been stronger than she appears.”
“People say the same of Jane.”
“And mistake gentleness for weakness.”
“Frequently.”
He returned the page.
Elizabeth said, “Will you write to Anne?”
“Yes.” “Good.”
“You sound like a governess.”
“You require one.”
“I had one.”
“She failed.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed.
Elizabeth laughed and escaped before he could retaliate.
The wedding plans proceeded. Mrs. Bennet wished for two hundred guests. Mr. Bennet wished for twelve. Bingley would have invited all of England if it made Jane happy. Jane wished for family, friends, and no fuss. Darcy initially proposed that he and Elizabeth marry quietly at Pemberley.
Elizabeth stared at him until he reconsidered.
“What?”
“My mother would hunt us to Derbyshire with a carving knife.”
“I was attempting to spare you spectacle.”
“You were attempting to spare yourself spectacle.”
He paused. “That too.”
“Honesty. How refreshing.”
They compromised on a double wedding at the Meryton church, followed by a breakfast at Netherfield large enough to satisfy Mrs. Bennet but not so large that Mr. Bennet fled the county.
The date was set for early March. Darcy would leave Longbourn before then.
That fact settled over Elizabeth unexpectedly.
He had been there so long that his books occupied shelves in the library.
His cane leaned habitually near the parlour fire.
Mrs. Bennet had ceased treating his presence as a visit and begun instructing him to carry messages upstairs if he was “going that way.” Even Hill asked his preference for breakfast eggs without thinking.
One morning he announced that Dr. Morrison had cleared him to return to Netherfield permanently.
Mrs. Bennet said, “Oh.”
Everyone looked at her.
She recovered. “Well, naturally. A gentleman ought not live with his intended before marriage. People will talk.”
Lydia whispered to Kitty, “They have been talking for months.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored her.
Darcy’s gaze found Elizabeth.
She smiled. “That is good news.”
“Yes.”
Neither sounded pleased.