These Three Remain

by Pamela Aidan

  “Dear God, Anne!” Darcy stared at his cousin, then at their clasped hands as helplessness consumed him. Of course he would remain silent, but what did that signify in the face of her confession? “Can you be mistaken?” he finally managed.

  “There is no mistake, Cousin.” Anne looked at him with the compassion he should have been offering up to her.

  He looked down at her small hand resting in supplication upon his sleeve. There must be more comfort he could give than his vow. “I promise. Your secrets are safe, Anne. I would that there were more than my mere silence to merit your gratitude. I have avoided and ignored you shamefully, and I am heartily sorry for it.”

  Anne gently disengaged her hand from his clasp and rose from the settee. “Do not berate yourself, Cousin. It was a game Her Ladyship forced upon us. Whereas I had not the strength or courage to gainsay her, you have handled her brilliantly. For that, you have my thanks.” A weary sigh escaped her lips, causing Darcy to rise in concern. “No, I am just a little tired. Please, I must return to my room. I am supposed to be resting.” She cast him a rueful smile. “It has been good finally to tell someone, Darcy. Strange that it should be you.” And with a curtsy, she was gone from the library, its door shutting softly behind her, leaving Darcy to the contemplation of the rain spattering against the great windows.

  Anne did not appear at dinner that evening. Mrs. Jenkinson arrived late in the salon outside the dining room with her charge’s plea that she be excused due to a sick headache and fatigue. Dinner was, therefore, a desultory affair, for which the inclement weather was held accountable and for which an evening of billiards was prescribed as the most promising means of relief by an emboldened and fidgety Richard. His hopes were to be dashed, at least temporarily, by a demand from his aunt that he and his cousin undertake to relieve her boredom by presenting themselves at the card table in the drawing room immediately after their brandy.

  “Will you be in humor to play after Her Ladyship retires?” Fitzwilliam looked at his cousin from under gathered brows before tossing down the remainder of his glass and motioning to Darcy to refill it. “Cards with the she-dragon and Mrs. Jenkinson is rather not my idea of the way to retrieve a day characterized chiefly by its deadly dullness.” He took another sip. “Lord, I wish the parsonage had been able to come! Then we should have had some fun!”

  “Although I cannot supply you the fascination, I will endeavor to answer your need for entertainment,” Darcy responded drily as he filled Fitzwilliam’s glass and set down the decanter, bridling as he did so at Richard’s allusion to Elizabeth. He could not like the easy manner in which his cousin spoke of her, and he determined to bring it to an immediate halt. “Or is it that quarter day is too distant a prospect?”

  “No, my pockets are not to let quite yet, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam’s chin came up at his cousin’s ungracious jab. “And you are off the mark on the other as well. I have found you to be excessively fascinating on this visit to Kent.”

  The brandy in Darcy’s glass sloshed back and forth. “Then the military life must not be as demanding a profession as is claimed,” he retorted, meeting Richard’s sharp-eyed regard, but almost immediately he regretted it. This tack would only encourage his cousin’s curiosity, and his accusation was more than provocative! “Your pardon, Richard, that was uncalled for.” He leaned back in the chair. If only he could retreat to the library or his rooms! The tension between the demands of his heart and his name, coupled with the intensity of his disappointment in not seeing Elizabeth that day, were causing him to act like a prize gudgeon.

  “My apologies as well, Fitz.” Richard sat down heavily and motioned out the nearby window. “It must be this damned, drizzily rain. Has us both up in the boughs. Pax, old man?” He raised his glass.

  Darcy nodded and tipped his glass up in response. “Pax.” They both took long, slow swallows. “Do you think we dare test this peace of ours and indulge in a few racks later?” He noted to his cousin then, with a motion of his hand, that the brandy was causing a reddish flush to spread over Richard’s cheeks.

  Fitzwilliam rubbed at his jaw and laughed. “Perhaps we had better examine our tempers and our sobriety after Her Ladyship has tried them at the card table. We may both be ready to commit mayhem by the time the last card is played!”

  The tedium of Lady Catherine’s card play and its accompanying monologue drove both men to seek the sanctuary of their rooms rather than hazard their tempers at the billiard table. It was undoubtedly one of the wiser decisions he and Richard had made recently, Darcy thought as he passed through the bedchamber door and was quietly greeted by his valet. The day’s revelations and disappointments could only make Darcy receive with relief Fletcher’s quick promise of hot water and a soothing concoction of his father’s recipe the moment he had divested him of his evening attire. Later, his ablutions completed and seated before the bedchamber’s low fire wrapped in his dressing gown, Darcy made a halfhearted attempt to collect his thoughts. But the hour, the fire, the warmth of the drink sliding smoothly down his throat all conspired to send them straightway down the path, through the grove, and past the pales to a certain residence where eyes alight with a welcoming smile waited to comfort the ache in his heart at their too-long absence.

  “Oh!” The single exclamation was more than enough to bring Darcy round from his study of some insect-wrought damage to several of the trees, which he had noticed while awaiting Elizabeth’s appearance. The trees were still sturdy enough, but if something were not done, they would eventually be reduced to hollow shells and become a danger to any who passed by. He had just finished his assessment and made a mental note to send for Lady Catherine’s forester when Elizabeth had come upon him as he rounded one of the damaged trees.

  “Miss Bennet.” He bowed, his entire being coming suddenly alive with pleasure at the sight of her as well as relief that he had not missed her. Further, judging from the direction she had come, she was at the fore of her walk, which meant that he would have her company for the greater part of an hour. Excellent!

  “Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth ducked him an awkward curtsy. Was that a frown upon her face? Darcy waited impatiently for her to raise her head, but when she did, her expression was all that a well-bred young female’s should be on such a meeting. The tense muscles surrounding his stomach relaxed somewhat, and he stepped forward.

  “You are just beginning your walk, I gather,” he began quickly, too ebullient to pause for her to either confirm or deny it. “Rosings Park has been the work of generations. It was, as well, a haunt of my youth; therefore” — his voice dropped — “I know it rather intimately.” At the last word he regarded her earnestly. “It would be my pleasure to act as your guide and begin to acquaint you with some of its lesser-known beauties.”

  Elizabeth blinked up at him, seemingly a little stunned by his offer. “You are most generous, sir, but I could not ask for so much of your time. It must be an imposition.”

  Her appropriate concern pleased him. “Not at all! I am at your disposal, Miss Bennet.” He offered her his arm, and as the other day, her hesitant acceptance of it delighted him with its delicacy of manner and eschewal of expectation. “Of course, we may only make a start of it today. A complete exploration would not be possible even during the entirety of this, your first visit. I promise you, it will be quite some time before you will have seen all that Rosings Park has to offer.” This observation seemed to impress her, for her only reply was a faint “Indeed!” as he indicated the direction in which they were to go.

  They walked on in silence, Darcy in a quandary as to what sort of topic he should introduce now that her company had been secured. Really, he was quite satisfied, for the present, with her nearness and the exciting pressure of her hand upon his arm; but convention and consideration required they converse. And he would, upon reflection, be very happy to receive so close to his ear whatever observations or opinions on most any subject that she might entertain. Learning more of her was, after all, the reason he
had given his conscience for these almost clandestine meetings.

  “Do you enjoy your stay at Hunsford, Miss Bennet?” He finally broke the quiet with a safe, mundane inquiry.

  “Yes, yes I do,” Elizabeth answered him with feeling. “Charlotte — Mrs. Collins — is a dear and longstanding friend who knows my disposition very well and is quite comfortable to leave me to my own devices.”

  Just so! Darcy luxuriated in Elizabeth’s assurance that this and future encounters would not be endangered by Mrs. Collins’s unexpected presence. Further, and as he had suspected, the rector’s wife had some inkling of how things stood and had signaled to Elizabeth her cooperation in the matter. He looked down upon the straw bonnet that bobbed at his shoulder, a sense of contentment overtaking him. Would not this be what it would be like, this sweetness, this sense of completeness arising from her presence beside him in mutual support, mutual pursuit of a fully shared life? If only the din raised by his duty could be silenced!

  They had reached the first bypath, barely discernible even to his familiar eye, and he gently turned her in to it, smiling reassuringly at her questioning brow. “Patience!” was the sum of the explanation he offered her. Carefully pushing aside the occasional wand that had grown across the way since his last visit to this particular place five years before, Darcy ushered Elizabeth down the faint trail. For the most part, it proceeded straightforwardly, not winding save around the odd great rock or tree jutting from the earth; for it was one that he and Richard had blazed as boys whose object it was to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible rather than to excite pleasure in the going. Within minutes, they reached it, the glade that had been so many places to him in his boyhood — Crusoe’s desert island, a wilderness fortress under the gallant Wolfe in America, a castle to be defended alongside Arthur — and he turned to see her reception of it. Elizabeth’s exclamation of delight was all he had hoped for.

  “Fitzwilliam and I found this place the summer I was ten years of age, despite some forceful dissuasion from Her Ladyship’s forester.” She turned from him, then, and he watched silently as she explored, confident that she understood what had now become his first gift to her.

  Someday he would tell her the rest, how Lady Catherine’s forester had tried to keep Richard and him from roaming the wood that long ago spring with tales of a fearfully wild boar that inhabited it. Of course, such stories were all they had needed, and they had taken off like a shot to find the creature. How, by the time they had reached the main path through the grove, they had so thoroughly scared each other with imagined sounds of snorting in the brush that they had fallen as much as run down the small hill with not the least idea which direction they were heading and so stumbled upon this hidden glade. Someday he would tell her…but not today. Today what he wished was to share with her that mysterious, magical spirit he had always felt possessed by this patch of wood.

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. It is quite lovely.” Elizabeth rejoined him after several minutes, gratitude resting lightly upon her face. “I would never have found this place on my own.”

  “It is my pleasure, Miss Bennet,” he returned as she stepped away from him and began threading her way back to the path by which they had come. Darcy acknowledged the wisdom of her unspoken message; they should not stay longer here in the glade alone. Giving his old haven a grateful nod for doing well by him, he turned to start after her. The rustling sound of leaves mixed with the clicking of branches gave warning that spring winds were stirring overhead. From long acquaintance, Darcy knew they would soon rush down into the glade. Instinctively, he grasped the brim of his hat and looked to Elizabeth to call a warning, but the words caught in his throat as the winds swirled about her in teasing, intimate play with her bonnet and frock.

  At that entrancing sight, everything within him suddenly urged him after her, strenuously assuring him that all he wanted would be answered if he would just this very moment enfold her in his arms and bring her within their shelter, if he could caress her cheek and search out the soft reaches of her lips! He started forward, the contentment he had felt now displaced by desire, oversetting him so that it was not until he was almost upon her that his rational mind succeeded in bringing himself to order.

  The sound portion of his mind which still remained warned him that the struggle to attend to rationality was becoming increasingly desperate in anything touching upon Elizabeth. That much was too obvious to ignore any longer, and the sudden realization of this lessening of his self-command cooled his ardor as no indignation on Elizabeth’s part ever could have done. He slowed his pace, keeping his distance as they walked up to the main path of the park. It was not that desire was gone; he still knew that ache, but he was more himself and able to think with some degree of collection.

  “Mr. Darcy, I think I should return to Hunsford.” Elizabeth greeted him with her decision as he joined her on the upper path. Darcy could only thank God for her announcement. His equanimity alone in her presence had been tested enough for one day. “Mrs. Collins mentioned she would have need of me, and I should think she is well ready for my help by this hour.”

  “Of course, you must go to the aid of your friend,” he replied solemnly. But despite the danger that still remained, he could not prevent himself from adding, “Allow me, I beg you, the peace of mind seeing you to her door would afford.” Her brow rose at that; nonetheless, she accepted his proffered arm, and together they turned back to the village.

  Again, only silence and the path were shared between them. Now and then he would steal glances at her as they wended back to Hunsford, but he could make nothing of her steady, calm features. Occasionally, he thought he detected the frown he had suspected earlier, but Elizabeth’s diffidence prevented confirmation, and he set it down to a lapse by her into thought. They walked on, but try as he might, Darcy could not recapture that sense of contentment he had experienced earlier on the path. He was still too much aware of her, he ruefully concluded, and wondered whether marriage might temper the emotions tumbling about within him and direct them into more happy channels. There was a question! Would marriage, after all, make him happier? It was fervently to be hoped, although he could not say that he had observed it to be true in his married friends. Rather, their marriages, arranged for reasons of family, connections, or fortune, had so little to do with his own situation that he could have no point of reference. Of the happiness of wives, he had even less idea, save for the disconcerting evidence supplied him by the many lures matrons of various ages had cast to him since his majority. Perhaps the answer lay in some other direction.

  “Miss Bennet,” Darcy began and then fell silent, no longer certain how to broach his question, but he was spared the embarrassment, for it appeared that she had not heard him. He began again.

  “Miss Bennet, what, may I ask, is your opinion of the happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Collins?” Elizabeth’s stride faltered for a moment, almost dislodging her hand from his arm.

  “How do you mean, sir?” She turned his question back, her voice curiously tight.

  “Your friend, Mrs. Collins.” He narrowed his inquiry. “Would you say that she is happier in the married state and with Mr. Collins than before becoming so?”

  “Happiness, as with distance, Mr. Darcy, is a relative term.” She left his question hang, her eyes searching out the path ahead of them, but then she relented. Without looking at him, she answered, “Yes, she is happy, sir, as hard as it is for me to admit that something I could not at first rejoice over has redounded to her benefit. Given Charlotte’s nature, expectations, and understanding, she considers herself perfectly happy in her marriage, and I must agree with her.”

  “So, you would posit a couple’s happiness in marriage with the agreement of their natures, their expectations of life, and the mutuality of their understanding?”

  Her silence at his question was such that he feared she again had not heard him. Finally, her answer came so softly that he had to bend to hear her. “It is a beginning, at lea
st. Without them, I believe the chances for happiness are quite remote.” She glanced up at him briefly, then looked away; but Darcy was well satisfied. Had she not, in her attempt to sketch his character, compared their dispositions and remarked on their similarity? Her ready wit and intelligence, her understanding, were well and delightfully established with him. What of her expectations of life? She could not be mistaken in his interest, yet she behaved with a restraint and a modesty that excited his intense admiration and gratitude. Contemplation of how this would stand her in good stead as his wife, as mistress of Pemberley, and as a leading figure in Society occupied him as pleasantly as did that of her profile until they passed the pales and came upon the parsonage gate.

  “We have arrived, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth’s voice, low and hesitant, recalled him from his thoughts.

  “We have, indeed, Miss Bennet,” he answered earnestly, and as before, he possessed himself of the hand upon his arm and raised it to his lips. “Good day, Miss Bennet.” He bowed.

  “Good day, Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied quickly and left him standing among the flowers at the parsonage lane’s entrance.

  He did not turn back until she was safely inside, and even then, he lingered. Despite her family, her lack of fortune and connection, he saw now that he would always be proud of her, could always put his trust in her because she understood him, she was like him…and he loved her. “Part of my soul, I seek thee,” the lines from Milton returned to seize him again with their power and veracity, “and thee claim, my other half.”

  Chapter 3

  As a Dream Doth Flatter

  It had taken but little persuasion, in fact none at all, to convince Her Ladyship of the benefits of issuing an invitation to the parsonage for Thursday evening. A word or two about the amiable effect of music on the passage of an evening and the entertainment to be had with more hands at the card table, and it was done. Richard had said nothing as he led Her Ladyship to the desired conclusion, but that very fact put Darcy on his guard. With the summons penned and a humble acceptance received, he could look to the next day’s necessary deprivation of Elizabeth’s company with an admirable calm.