by Meg Osborne
“In all honesty, Aunt Catherine, it was not my choice -”
“And yet you went ahead with it!”
“Aunt -” Darcy spoke up.
“And you!”
Darcy’s attempt to intercede for his cousin served only to draw Lady Catherine’s temper upon himself, and he regretted the move almost immediately.
“You knew of this and did nothing to stop it!” Lady Catherine paled. “How could you have brought such shame upon my household, Fitzwilliam?”
“Shame?” It was Anne who dared to speak when both of her cousins feared to. “Mama, there was no shame. It was all a misunderstanding, put right now, and nobody was hurt.”
“Reputations were hurt!” Lady Catherine countered. “I do not know what attachment you sought to form with Mrs Collins -”
“None!” Richard interjected. “None but friendship.”
“If you were married it would be far less scandalous...” Lady Catherine continued as if Richard had not spoken, indeed it seemed to Darcy that she might not have heard him at all and she continued undaunted, little noticing when he chose to speak again.
“If that is truly your opinion, Aunt, then I hope that you will hear my next words and be pleased.” Richard drew a breath, glancing anxiously at Anne and then Darcy before speaking again, quickly and in earnest.
“Aunt Catherine, I wish to be married. Indeed, I have found the object of my affections, indeed the object upon whom all my future hopes of happiness rest, and I hope that you will consent to our marrying. Anne and I wished to wait until I had secured a more ample fortune or at least secured for us a home, but in truth, Aunt, we do not care to wait. These past few months have been torment, keeping our true feelings hidden, corresponding only by letter and fearing all the while that they might fall into the wrong hands and betray us before we were ready. Please say you will permit us to marry.”
“Marry?” Lady Catherine seemed to have begun listening only halfway through Richard’s appeal, but her response was one of shock, the same shock which Darcy felt etched into his own features.
“Yes,” Richard laughed, anxiety giving way to relief, now that the secret was shared, his plea made. He reached out to Anne and she nestled herself into the crook of his arm, the two forming such a contented and complete picture that Darcy could not believe he had never noticed their suitability before that evening.
“You care for...Anne?”
It was Darcy who voiced the words, and both cousins turned to regard him as if they had quite forgotten he was present.
“Yes.” Richard’s face grew serious, his brow lowering. “Do you mind it, William? For I know that there has always been talk of the two of you...Forgive us for not being upfront, only -”
“I do not mind it at all!” Darcy smiled, unsure which of his cousins to embrace first. “Indeed, how could I? You are perfectly suited, far more so than Anne and I would ever be.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from this assertion, but Darcy did not pause to consult his aunt. He knew his own mind and wished only to rejoice in the picture of affection that lay before him. He embraced both Anne and Richard in turn, thumping his cousin hard on the back, for he could not quite hide his delight that it was Anne, and not Elizabeth, who held his cousin’s heart.
“Well, Mother?” Anne ventured, when the immediate delight was spent. “What are your thoughts?”
“I hardly know,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “I despair at this display of deceit. Yes, I call it deceit. All along, Anne, I felt certain that you felt as I did, that your future happiness lay aligned with Fitzwilliam, and now I see you have betrayed him for his cousin.”
“There was no betrayal,” Darcy interjected, feeling certain he must speak, lest Lady Catherine look to him for a slight that he did not feel. “Indeed, I can scarcely think of a better future for two of the people I love best in the world.”
“Thank you,” Richard said, beaming at him, and looking as if he had been given the world and wished only to enjoy it.
“Excuse me,” Lady Catherine said, standing suddenly and pushing past the assembled group to the door. “I must retire to my room.”
“Oh, Mother -” Anne began.
“No, I will go alone.” Lady Catherine shrugged off her daughter’s concern, summoning her maid and departing in a cloud of fury and agitation. As the door closed behind her it was as if a gust of wind had blown through the room, rendering all its occupants silent.
“I knew she would not be pleased,” Anne lamented, a crease forming on her pale brow.
“Fear not, my love, it is merely the shock of the thing. She will soon relent, you’ll see.” Richard said, reaching out a hand to smooth the crease with a gentleness that surprised Darcy. It struck him, then, that this love affair had been long in the making, and he wondered just how it had been being conducted, quietly and in secret, without him ever daring to dream of such a thing. Why, if he had known Anne’s heart lay elsewhere he might have contrived to visit Kent all the sooner. It was on account of Lady Catherine’s insatiable desire to match the two cousins that he avoided Rosings as often as he might, lest his presence be a torment to Anne. He coloured, then, wondering if it had been pride that caused him to think of himself as so desirable a match that Anne could not fail to form an attachment to him, simply by proximity and at the suggestion of her mother.
“You see now, Darcy, why I strove to be equal in my attentions to all other ladies present last evening.” Richard laughed. “I wonder if I was not a little too equal, and had I not been, poor Mr Collins might never have worried so unduly.” He folded Anne’s tiny hand in his two large ones. “I wished Aunt Catherine to suspect nothing, and I could not risk devoting too much time to Anne, lest she guessed where my heart truly lay.”
“Then you were never taken with Mrs Collins?”
“Certainly not!” Richard snorted. “And I think she would be quite affronted by the suggestion, too. She spoke to me only out of politeness, and a certain deference to her husband’s patroness. I noticed her eyes glaze over more than once at my stories of daring, and I was not immune to the glances exchanged between her and Elizabeth when I sought once more to dominate conversations they might rather have had with another gentleman present.”
Darcy frowned, unsure to whom his cousin could mean to refer.
“You, of course!” Richard roared with laughter. “Honestly! I always thought you were a sensible fellow, but if your behaviour this week is anything to remark upon I must wonder if I was not sorely mistaken. Can you not see that Elizabeth cares for you, almost as much as you care for her?”
“I do not!” Darcy countered him almost immediately but was silenced by a knowing glance shared between Richard and Anne as if they, as close to affianced as it was possible to be, were given insight into the secret of all men’s hearts. They knew what Darcy knew, and could only seek to hide, unsuccessfully it seemed, from those around him. He did care for Elizabeth Bennet, and had done since almost the first hour of their meeting, despite his best intentions to prevent himself from doing so. If he had rejoiced at the chance to remove himself from her sphere of influence, in hopes that doing so would cause him to forget, then he could not have been more wrong. She had been with him in London and, he wagered, she had somehow summoned him to Kent, even without him being aware of it, so that they were forced once more into society. Providence had acted, and who was he to dispute providence?
“Well, my own heart is of little consequence. She certainly cares little enough for me.”
“Oh, indeed!” Anne said, with a sly smile. “It is out of her decided lack of concern for you that she waits at this very moment in the library, to ensure that you survived this interview unscathed, and unmolested.”
“She is still here.” It was a statement, not a question, but Anne sought to answer him anyway, pointing Darcy towards the door.
“She is still here at present. No doubt she will wish to return home, now that the evening draws closer. It will require a
carriage and an escort. Perhaps you will do the honours, William, and I will seek to speak to my mother once more.”
She exchanged a look of mild anxiety with Richard, but Darcy did not notice. He scarcely noticed a thing, for his mind was in the library ahead of his body, already planning how he might address the young woman who consumed so many of his waking thoughts.
Chapter Fourteen
On any other evening, Elizabeth would have been delighted to be afforded the opportunity to peruse the library at Rosings unhindered, for whatever her faults, Lady Catherine was not unaware of the wisdom of a well-stocked library, and Lizzy ought to have been contented to run her fingers along the spines of such elegant editions of the books she knew and loved, and run her eyes over the un-marked pages of those she did not.
On this particular evening, though, her mind would not rest. At every sound from the unfamiliar house she darted toward the door, straining every nerve that she might discern what was happening without, and wondering all the while whether she ought to remain where she was, or whether, in the absence of her hosts, she ought to take matters into her own hands and begin the journey home. She did not rate the wisdom of attempting the walk with only Charlotte’s maid for company, nor in the dark, for the evening drew late and she was not yet quite familiar with Kent, although she did not think it far to Hunsford from Rosings.
I must be content to wait, in that case, she thought, selecting for herself an upright chair and folding herself into it, for just at that moment she felt overcome with a wave of tiredness after her day’s exertion. She felt as if she had travelled quite some miles that day, in spirit if not in truth, and she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, giving her free arm a pinch in hopes it might spark her into wakefulness.
The sound of a door slamming did that with greater success, and she struggled to sit up, craning her neck as if she might see through the heavy oak door and thus deduce what had occurred. She need not have tried to peer through, though, for the door flew open and Lady Catherine burst in, reeling back almost as suddenly at spotting the room inhabited, as Elizabeth did at having her sanctuary breached.
“Oh! Miss Bennet!” she cried, crossly. “How long have you been lurking here?” Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose you knew about all this.” Lady Catherine was all accusation, and Elizabeth was left speechless.
“All what? I assure you, Lady Catherine, I knew nothing of the duel -”
“The duel?” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “You think I care for any duel? No, better that Richard had gone through with it and received just punishment for his deception and flirtation than this.” She clutched a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear. Whatever will become of me?”
“Oh, Lady Catherine!” Lizzy surrendered her seat, reaching for the older lady in hopes of encouraging her to sit, but Lady Catherine rallied almost immediately from whatever swoon had been poised to overtake her and wrenched herself out of Elizabeth’s grasp.
“You need not attempt to comfort me in my own home, Miss! I am not quite decrepit yet, despite what my nephews think!”
And with this final, bewildering statement, Lady Catherine picked up her skirts and swept imperiously from the room, her heels striking furiously on the steps as she made her retreat.
Lizzy frowned, more confused than ever, and reached for the door, wondering if she ought to find her way to where Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy and Anne de Bourgh were, to discern just what had taken place within their small family that had so unsettled Lady Catherine. Her courage failed her at the last minute, however, and carefully, quietly, she slid the door closed, retreating to the shelves and returning to her first task, selecting a book of Shakespeare at last and flicking through the pages until she reached the particular play she was searching for. Losing herself once more in Beatrice and Benedick’s heated exchanges, she began to feel her nerves recede a little, at last, and it seemed like scarcely a moment later that a light knock preceded the library door opening once more, this time to admit the cautious step of Mr Darcy.
“Oh!” Elizabeth started, sliding the book aside, and leaping to her feet.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Mr Darcy said, his face a picture of concern and lacking the frown that she had so frequently noticed upon it. “Please, continue with your reading, if you wish.”
“Oh, it is nothing of consequence,” Elizabeth said, closing the book on Beatrice and Benedick's declarations, and turning her attention to her friend. “Tell me, what has happened? Lady Catherine seems very upset.”
Darcy grimaced.
“Upset. Yes. She has had quite a shock this evening.”
“But nobody was hurt!”
Darcy frowned as if he was not quite sure of Elizabeth’s reference.
“In the duel,” she prompted. “Nobody was hurt, and all has been settled now. There is nothing to worry about anymore, surely.”
“Oh, indeed. No, she is not so concerned over that. It is rather...” he paused, folding, and then unfolding his hands as if he was suddenly unsure what to do with them. “It appears my cousin has been concealing a tendresse.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Do you know the young lady?”
Darcy frowned, and Elizabeth laughed, realising her error.
“Forgive me! I thought you referred to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but it must be Miss de Bourgh, for the shock to have been delivered upon her mother.” Her features fell. “Oh dear, I do hope she is not opposed to the young gentleman...” She trailed off, surprised to see a strange expression come over Darcy’s face. At last, she recognised a smile, and then he, too, laughed. It was so unexpected, and so unlike any expression that she had heretofore seen him wear that she could not look away from him. Gone was the glower, the grimace, the scowl that she so regularly associated with Mr Darcy in Hertfordshire. He was quite transformed.
At length, he seemed to notice her silent scrutiny and struggled to swallow his amusement.
“Miss Elizabeth, it appears I must speak plainly, for we are talking each other in circles.” He glanced over to the window, spying two seats that bordered a table, and gestured they sit. “You are right to suggest my cousin, Anne, has formed an attachment to a young gentleman, and it is this which has come as a surprise to my aunt.” His lips quirked. “I cannot own it was a surprise to me, also, although I ought to have guessed it, had I not been somewhat preoccupied with my own concerns.” He paused “You are also not mistaken in your first assertion that the cousin I referred to was Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
He let the matter rest a moment, and gradually Elizabeth sifted the pieces together in her mind, at last clapping her hands as she realised the truth.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam...and Miss de Bourgh! Why, what a charming pair they will make!”
She fancied she recalled, then, any number of glances she had observed between the two the previous evening, and imagined relating this good news at Hunsford. How happy Charlotte would be to hear of it, for the two friends had lost an hour to discussing poor Anne de Bourgh, and how much Charlotte longed for her to find some companionship outside the iron grip of her mother. Elizabeth grinned, fancying Richard Fitzwilliam a more than able opponent to Lady Catherine in ensuring Anne’s freedom and happiness in the years to come.
“I am glad to see you smile, Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy mused, and Elizabeth coloured, realising that he had been observing her rather more closely than she had noticed.
“Indeed? And why would I not, to hear such happy news?” Her expression faltered, as an unspoken question raised itself in her mind. Her lips parted, but before she could voice it, Mr Darcy shook his head.
“No, you need not ask whether I mind my two cousins finding happiness. In fact, I am rather relieved. It frees me from the interference of my aunt, who has for some time, seen fit to match another pair of cousins who would, I assure you, be far less suitable a match. In any case,” he paused, his brow furrowing with thought before continuing, his voice taking on a strange, muted tone. “One of this pair has developed feelings for anot
her.”
“Anne,” Elizabeth said, smiling at the notion of a romance developing in secret, right under Lady Catherine’s rather bulbous nose.
“Yes, Anne,” Darcy said, dropping his gaze to his feet. “And me.”
ELIZABETH DID NOT REPLY straight away, so that Darcy was rather afraid she had not heard him. He kept his eyes pinned to the ground, not quite daring to look at her, but at last, he could bear her silence no longer and raised his head. He intended on meeting her gaze only briefly, but found, once her dark eyes fixed on his that he was quite unable to look away.
“I wonder, Mr Darcy, if you are familiar with Shakespeare?”
This question came so suddenly and so surprising that Darcy was a little taken aback.
“I have heard of him, yes,” he remarked, drily. “But I am not what one might call familiar. Why do you ask?”
Instead of answering, Elizabeth slid a heavy volume across the table towards him.
“He wrote a play entitled Much Ado about Nothing. It is about...”
“Nothing?” Darcy quipped, surprised at his ability to make jokes when the young lady in front of him held his very heart and soul in her hands and seemed utterly unaware of her power.
“Yes.” Elizabeth laughed. “Exactly. Nothing. Actually, it is about love. And the different ways people have of expressing their love. There is a lot of fun pointed at those who use great, flowery declarations of love to win one another’s affections, and those who spend so much of their time arguing that they scarcely realise they are in love until it is too late...” she trailed off, and Darcy noticed a pink tinge seeping into her cheeks.
“Indeed.” He sniffed. “And what must that be like, I wonder.”
“I scarcely know,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Don’t you?”
