by Leenie Brown
Lady Catherine rose from her chair. “You would have been good to her.” She placed a hand on his arm. “And she would have made you happy. I know it.”
Darcy smiled. “I believe you are right.”
She sighed loudly as if lifting some heavy object. “You shall never be my son.” She patted his arm. “It is a pity.”
“Indeed, it is,” Darcy agreed. It would not have been an easy task being her son, but he could have managed. “Mother would be disappointed, would she not?”
Lady Catherine patted his arm again and nodded. Her lips were firmly pressed together, and her eyes were watery. He knew she was not the sort of lady to allow her emotions to be aired before others. Therefore, he respectfully looked away.
“Mother has likely met her, and they are having tea while Mother shares stories about you.”
To his surprise, he found himself wrapped in his aunt’s arms. It was something that had not happened since just after his mother had died.
He squeezed her tightly. “I may never be your son, but I shall always care for you,” he whispered. “I promised Mother I would.”
“You are a good boy,” she replied. Then, she straightened herself, gathered her basket, and left him alone in the room.
Darcy walked over to where Anne lay and studied her face. “Your mother is going to miss you. She already does.” He and Anne had spoken about how Lady Catherine would adjust to Anne’s being in Derbyshire after they married. They knew that, eventually, Lady Catherine would come to live with them. Darcy had planned to have Richard see to Rosings until it might be needed for a second son of his and Anne’s to manage it. But now? He blew out a breath. Things were different now that Anne was gone. The fate of Rosings would lie in the hands of his uncle, Lord Matlock, according to the provision in Anne’s father’s will. However, there was time for all that to be decided.
“Your mother can still live with me if she so chooses,” he assured Anne. “I will not cast her aside unless she becomes too demanding. Then there is that cottage we had discussed as being perfect for her.” He smiled down at Anne. “What shall I do without you? I am not good at conversing with ladies. How shall I ever convince someone to take me on?” Pulling a chair close to where she lay, he continued, “There is someone who caught my eye. I was writing to Richard about her when I learned of your accident.” He closed his eyes as feelings of betrayal washed over him.
“I did not know what to do. I had promised both you and Mother that I would marry you, and yet, my heart was beginning to question if I should keep such promises. Was it better to honour my word despite my heart being engaged elsewhere? Or was it better to break my word and follow my heart?” He shook his head. “No, I do not think I could have done that. I would have eventually forgotten her and been quite content with you.” Again, he shook his head.
“You deserved to be loved better than that.” He looked at her closed eyes, imagining the blue that lay beneath the lids. “You see the quandary in which I found myself?”
He crossed the room and retrieved the package his aunt had given him. Pulling the ribbon, he unwrapped what lay inside.
“Your mother has given me your diary. I do hope there are no horrid secrets in it. Shall I read it?” he asked her.
He might, just to hear her voice once again.
There was also a miniature of Anne and a ring — a golden band engraved with Anne Sophia de Bourgh and a small rose on a field of black enamel. “She must have had this commissioned quickly,” he muttered. He had expected some sort of mourning item to be given him, but he had not expected it so soon. He placed the ring on his finger. It fit well enough.
“I could never forget you, even without these things,” he said to Anne. “You will always be in my heart. I may not have loved you as well as I should have, but I did love you.”
He flipped open the diary, read a few lines on the first page, then paged through to the end. She had begun keeping this journal several years ago. The entries were sporadic and not daily. They appeared to chronicle his visits along with the comings and goings of notable people in the household and village. He stopped a few pages from the end of the book. It was dated June of this year.
He caught his breath. She mentioned the letter he had written to her about Georgiana’s ordeal at Ramsgate.
I hope I will be able to help guide her after we marry, but I fear I do not have the right sort of experience to do so. I have never been to London for a season. I cannot know what she will need. It is times like this when I feel unequal to the task of being Mrs. Darcy.
He had never considered how Anne might feel being asked not only to take on an estate but also a young lady not many years her junior.
“You would have done well,” he murmured. “You knew how to listen to and care for others. You were quiet, but you were not without intelligence about life and people. I would have helped you.” He sighed. “It is a nearly overwhelming task to care for Georgiana. I have done my best, but I feel as if I have failed her in some ways. If I had married you earlier, perhaps I would have done better.”
He flipped one page and then another.
I fear I will not satisfy his heart as it should be satisfied. He loves me. I know this, but it is not as an ardent lover. I have spoken to Richard about such things, and he assures me that all will be well. I should dislike very much to be what stands between Fitzwilliam and the love he deserves to receive. I shall love him as best I can, but will it be enough? I would not hold him to his promise if I knew another had captured his heart, but none has. So I will marry him in the new year and pray I can fulfill my role as his wife.
He read that paragraph again. “I knew you were uneasy about our marriage, but…” His voice trailed off. He had no idea she had been so uncertain. Perhaps Richard was correct. Anne would give him her blessing to marry where his heart led.
He stood, laying the journal aside. Then, taking the ring from his finger, he placed it on top of her hand and covered it with his own. “I am so grateful to you for having been willing to marry me despite your misgivings,” he began, “and in honour of your heart’s desire, I pledge to you that I shall only marry a lady who has captured my heart, and I will wear this ring in recognition of this promise until such time as I have fulfilled it.” Then, he kissed his fingers and placed them on her cheek. “To you, I pledge my troth in this matter,” he whispered as he slipped the ring back on his finger.
Chapter 5
“How are you?”
Darcy turned his head away from looking at the prospect outside the window and toward his uncle who had come to stand near him.
“She liked seeing the sheep in the fields.”
A hand grasped Darcy’s shoulder firmly. “We will all miss her, but yours was of a particular relationship, and what I wish to know is how you are doing? And I do not mean are you well.” Lord Matlock nodded toward the chairs at the end of the room not next to where Anne presently lay. “Come. There is a window over here where we can overlook nature as we speak.”
Darcy followed his uncle to the other side of the small room.
“Someone will be here to relieve you soon,” Lord Matlock added. “Then we can retire to your room where you can rest. I would not have you relapsing.”
Darcy fought to hide a yawn. He was tired, and his body ached. A rest would be most welcome. The discussion he would have to have with his uncle was perhaps not as welcome. However, it could not be put off. A betrothal had come to an end. Rosings’ future had to be decided as did his own. He shook his head.
“It is too much,” he muttered.
His uncle’s replying smile was understanding. “There is time to deal with all that needs doing.” His brows flicked upward. “Most is done.” He sank into a chair while Darcy stood near the window. “I had a great deal of time to do some arranging and to write to Sir Louis’s solicitor. I expect his response soon. But we can discuss that later. I first would like to know how you are accepting your new-found freedom.”
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nbsp; Darcy sighed. Freedom?
“You were bound by duty, and now you are not,” his uncle added in response to Darcy’s sigh. “You are now free to choose a bride. How does that sit with you?”
“I do not know.” Darcy turned to look at Anne. “She would have released me from my promise.”
“I know. Richard told me.”
“Yes, he told me, too. As did her journal.”
“And you would have stood by your promise come hell or high water.”
Darcy shrugged.
“You were both nearly too noble at times.”
Darcy turned startled eyes to his uncle.
“There are times when denying one’s wishes and desires is not best, such as when pledging yourself to another in marriage when your heart is engaged elsewhere. I know it is perhaps not the most popular belief of my peers, but I do think each gentleman and lady should strive to find felicity in marriage if possible. And happiness cannot truly be achieved when there is regret standing in the way.” Lord Matlock blew out a breath and dug out his handkerchief. “You fulfilled your promise to your mother and to Anne. She knew love. You loved her well, just as your mother wished. And you were faithful to Anne until death parted you.”
No, he had not been truly faithful. He had considered Elizabeth before Anne had died.
“I know about the young lady in Hertfordshire.”
“You do?”
His uncle nodded. “A pretty young lady with a will of iron and a keen mind but with little money and a few ties to trade.”
His uncle, much like Richard, was not one to mince words. Darcy appreciated that about Lord Matlock. “Then you know I was writing to Richard when he arrived?”
“Yes. You were conflicted. You had a duty to complete, and yet your heart betrayed you and made you question.” He rose as a maid entered. “Come. Anne will be watched over.”
Darcy nodded but, instead of following his uncle out of the room immediately, he first crossed to Anne and told her softly that he would return at least once more before they must part forever. Then, he followed his uncle from the room.
“It seems as if you loved her more than you perhaps thought.”
“As a dear friend,” Darcy replied. “As I do you or Richard or Georgiana.”
“But not as one might a wife?”
“No.” Darcy’s heart was heavy with grief, and he doubted his ability to continue on without Anne, but it was not because his life had been ripped from him as he had seen in his father’s eyes when his mother died. He doubted his ability to continue on because he doubted his ability to find a wife.
“My lord.” Rosings’ butler approached them. “Mr. Collins has arrived, and my lady is above resting.”
“Collins, you say?” Lord Matlock turned from the stairs and toward the drawing room.
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied.
Darcy did not think he had ever heard such an exasperated sigh as the one that his uncle blew out. Richard had said that this Collins was trying, but he had thought that Richard might have exaggerated the man’s annoyance. However, after hearing the sound that his uncle made at the mere mention of the name, it seemed Richard’s account was accurate.
His uncle turned to him. “Go on up to your room, Darcy. I will deal with this and visit with you later.” Turning back to the butler he clarified, “He is in the drawing room?”
“Yes, sir, the blue one.”
“The blue one,” Lord Matlock repeated, his tone fraught with unwilling resignation to the task before him.
Darcy followed behind his uncle.
“Are you not going up to rest?” Lord Matlock said with a glance over his shoulder.
Darcy shook his head. “Richard has told me somewhat about Mr. Collins, and I admit to being curious.”
“He will drive you to distraction,” his uncle cautioned.
“I accept the danger.”
“If I could go up and rest rather than sit in this room with that man, I would,” said Lord Matlock as the butler opened the drawing room door. He shook his head, blew out one more breath, and entered the room with Darcy close behind.
“Mr. Collins,” Lord Matlock greeted a slightly large and clumsy-looking fellow. He was not an ill-looking gentleman, but he the manner in which he carried himself was awkward.
The man moved forward in a hunched fashion and bowed low before Lord Matlock.
“My lord,” the man said, “I do not mean to inconvenience, but I thought it my duty to ensure that all is as well as can be expected here at Rosings. Not that all is ever well when one has sustained such a grievous loss as you have.”
His head hung in a bowed fashion and his hands were clasped tightly together in front of him.
“My sister is resting –”
“Oh, that is good, very good. It can be so challenging to find proper rest when tragedy befalls one.” Mr. Collins clamped his lips closed when Lord Matlock cleared his throat. “I should hate to see her take ill,” he added as if the words could not be contained despite his best efforts to remain silent.
“It is very good that Lady Catherine is resting,” Lord Matlock said as he motioned to the group of chairs where Richard was sitting. “It is why I will not allow her to be disturbed at present.”
“Wise, so wise,” Mr. Collins muttered as he took his seat.
“I trust all is ready for the service?”
“Oh, yes, my lord, everything is perfectly ready, not a thing has been ignored. I would not wish to disrespect such a fine young woman as Miss de Bourgh, nor would I have the community think ill of my lady or you, my lord. All is in readiness.”
Darcy looked at Richard and raised a brow to which Richard gave a small nod. The man had said yes using far more words than necessary and in such a repetitive fashion.
“And all is well at the parsonage?” Lord Matlock continued.
“Oh, indeed! A finer house could not be found in all of England for the likes of me. I am quite content there.” His eyes shifted from Lord Matlock to Darcy and back.
“Forgive me, I have forgotten myself, Mr. Collins,” Lord Matlock said. “This is my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. Darcy, Mr. Collins, Catherine’s parson.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Collins,” Darcy said. It was the polite thing to say. The truth of the statement remained to be discovered. So far, the gentleman was entertaining, though Darcy could see how his excessive fondness for speaking could wear on a person, especially a person such as Darcy, who enjoyed quiet.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Collins replied. “I understand you have been ill, so I must say that I am excessively pleased to see you are improved enough to be out of bed and in company. I had feared your journey would set you back. It can, you know. However, it has not been tremendously cold, nor have we had rain in nearly a week, so I would say you had the best sort of weather for travelling if one must travel at all while ill. And, of course, it was necessary.”
“Indeed, it was,” Darcy muttered.
“You were in Hertfordshire, were you not?”
“I was.”
Collins shifted in his seat and sat a bit straighter. “I have relations in Hertfordshire, a distant cousin and his family, though I have never met them.”
Darcy expected him to continue on speaking, but to Darcy’s surprise, Collins did not ramble on about his family. Instead, he looked to Darcy as if expecting him to show keen interest and question him on his good fortune of having relations in an area of the world in which Darcy had been. Darcy glanced at Richard, who was reclined in his chair and wearing an amused smirk.
“What is their name?” Darcy held Richard’s gaze as he asked the question. It was satisfying to see his cousin’s eyes grow wide in surprise.
“Bennet,” Collins replied, “of Longbourn. Mr. Bennet is my cousin, and I am his heir.”
“Indeed?” Darcy responded with feigned surprise. He had already received such intelligence from his cousin, but Mr. Collins did not need to know that.
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“I declare it is the very truth. The estate is entailed, and since my cousin has failed to produce a son and has only daughters, Longbourn will fall to me upon his demise.”
“And you have not seen the estate?” Richard queried.
“That is correct. There is a familial breach of long-standing that has kept me from visiting. However, I have of late written to my cousin and been accepted as a guest. I was to have already arrived at Longbourn, but the Lord has delayed my journey.” He turned toward Lord Matlock with a very concerned look on his face. “I do not regret that it has been delayed. I am certain the Lord has a very good reason for such a pause in the plans of man. Not that the passing of dear Miss de Bourgh is good. It is just that even such a calamitous occurrence can be used in the hand of God to produce good. Take Joseph for instance, –”
“I understand,” Lord Matlock interrupted.
Collins nodded and remained silent for a full half minute. “Have you met my relations?” he asked Darcy. “I admit to being curious about them.”
“I have. They seem a respectable family, well-liked in the community, that sort of thing.”
“And the daughters? Are they…” He flushed and fell silent.
“They are lovely young ladies,” Darcy assured him.
“Your aunt, my lady, has suggested that I consider marrying one of them to mend the breach, as an olive branch of good will, to let them know that what has passed before has been forgotten and that they shall not be ill-treated when the time comes for me to claim my inheritance, you see. I am not an unreasonable person.”
“It is good to be reasonable,” Darcy muttered, though he doubted just how practical a man of so many useless words could be.
“I should not have to care for all of the daughters, should I? You did say they were lovely, so am I to assume that they will be able to find husbands?”
“I should think so,” Darcy replied. “However, I am not the best judge of such things.”
