“She is an independent woman now. She is the mistress of Rosings. She can do whatever she likes. But, yes, I think I will be able to convince her.”
She bent to kiss the top of his weary head. “I will call your valet.”
*
The gravel in the lane crunched loudly beneath Mr. Darcy’s feet as he approached the parsonage with long, determined steps. He pounded upon the door and prepared to meet the face of Mr. Jonson, but the door of the parsonage was opened by an unanticipated figure.
“Dr. Roberts?” Mr. Darcy asked, clearly baffled to find the president of the London Evangelical Missionary Society, and a doctor of divinity, performing the servant’s task of answering doors.
“Yes,” he replied, appearing equally bewildered. “Was there a problem with the sale of the land, Mr. Darcy?”
“I…” Mr. Darcy’s words trailed off. He raised his hat, which he now held at his side, in a gesture of speechlessness. Finally, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“You knocked upon my door,” replied the man, not rudely, but with a note of confused amusement.
“I had anticipated Mr. Jonson.”
“Ah, my cousin,” said Dr. Roberts, with a relieved sigh. “When I saw you before my door, I could only assume you were here regarding the property, but I perceive you were unaware that I have taken over Mr. Jonson’s position as rector. You will not discover my cousin here. He has, I fear, been taken to Newgate, and if it is true that he shall in no wise come out until he has paid the uttermost farthing, then he shall be there a very long time indeed.” Dr. Roberts stifled a laugh that was inspired by his own flippant biblical allusion and then, with a forced gravity, he met the level gaze of his visitor.
“You are the rector?” asked Mr. Darcy.
“Yes, sir.”
“You are the rector.”
This time a short chuckle escaped, but it was soon reigned in. “I believe I said as much.”
“Then you are engaged to my cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
“Indeed, she is your cousin. I had forgotten that as well, though she did surely mention it. And that, no doubt, is why you are here—for the wedding. Please, sir, do come in.” Dr. Roberts stepped back and extended his arm to invite the gentleman inside.
Mr. Darcy entered, but not without first surveying the rector suspiciously. He looked about the parsonage and saw that a few alterations had been made, all aimed at removing the ostentatious additions Mr. Jonson had erected.
“Will you sit down?” Dr. Roberts asked him.
Mr. Darcy took a chair and said unceremoniously, “I received a letter from my cousin informing me she was to be wed to the rector here. I assumed she meant Mr. Jonson.”
“No!” exclaimed Dr. Roberts. “No, indeed. And thank God for that!”
“I am not sure I find the prospect of her attachment to you any more endearing.”
“You hardly know me, sir.”
“Precisely. How do you know my cousin—”
“—We met a few weeks ago—”
“—And after such a short acquaintance, you have become engaged to Miss de Bourgh.”
“Events moved much more rapidly than either of us could envision.” Dr. Roberts paused, as if expecting another interruption, but Mr. Darcy made it clear he was prepared to await an explanation. So Dr. Roberts continued, “I came at first to see my cousin, Mr. Jonson. He had creditors who were soliciting me for his whereabouts. That, indeed, is why I was somewhat late for our initial meeting in London—I had but just returned from the country. Then, immediately after you left my offices that day, I was once again accosted by Mr. Jonson’s creditors, and so I returned a second time to warn him that he needed to settle his affairs. That was when I met Miss de Bourgh.”
Dr. Roberts laced his fingers together and allowed his thumbs to tap against his lips, as though the rhythm might help him to gather his story into a single, organized thread. Mr. Darcy was distracted by the motion and only narrowly realized that the man had begun to speak again. “Mr. Jonson inherited a fortune from our Uncle,” he was saying, “but he has squandered all of it, and incurred new debts beside, which apparently even his living here could not satisfy. He implored me to lend him the money, but I refused. I am willing now to satisfy his creditors only so that they will not harass me. I hope my cousin’s time in debtor’s prison will sober him.”
“And how did you come to be the rector here? Do you not have lands and an estate of your own?”
“I am arriving at that. The second time I came to see Mr. Jonson regarding his affairs, I noticed that he was walking about the gardens with Miss de Bourgh. I did not know her in person, only by reputation, but I could guess my cousin’s motives for befriending her.”
Dr. Roberts continued his story. “Perceiving as I did my cousin’s motives, I came daily to visit him here, and seized the first available opportunity to address Miss de Bourgh alone. She was in the gardens awaiting Mr. Jonson, whom I knew to be preoccupied with an attempt to deter his creditors. I revealed to her the extent of my cousin’s character and what I considered to be his motives. She was wounded, but she was not, I daresay, astonished. He had not deceived her so much as she had deceived herself. She could lie to herself, when confronted only by her own intuition, but she could not do so when given the plain evidence from the mouth of another individual. She is a clever woman, as I am sure you know; it is only that she has been imprisoned from the world by her sickness, which I think was somewhat exaggerated by the protective efforts of her mother. You should see her now, and you will see she has nearly as ruddy a face as any woman in England.”
This Mr. Darcy could scarcely believe; he had never seen her face a shade darker than pale, and her expression, to him, had always seemed cross.
“To abbreviate this tale,” said Dr. Roberts, “Miss de Bourgh told Lady Catherine of Mr. Jonson machinations. Lady Catherine had him instantly ejected from the parsonage. As a favor to me, for saving her daughter from an imprudent match, she granted me the then vacated living.”
“So that her daughter might embark upon another imprudent match.”
“You may think so. No doubt you assume I wish to marry Miss de Bourgh for her wealth. But as I have said, I am a man of means. Certainly my fortune is nothing to hers, but I would have been content with it. Though I could have long ago retired and led a gentleman’s life, I felt a calling for the Church. I obtained my doctorate in divinity, and I took orders at about the same time as my cousin. I could find no vacant living at the time, so I accepted the position as the head of the London Mission Society. Organizational work is noble enough, but it is certainly not my calling in life; I would rather leave that to the attorneys and the stewards. Besides, the position was hardly active; it was largely titular. I gladly accepted this living here because I desire to be a rector. I did not accept it in order to court Miss de Bourgh, but I was invited daily to Rosings, and I found myself frequently in her company, and I grew to admire her. When Lady Catherine died, and I sought to comfort her in her grief, I could not refrain from confessing my feelings for her. To my gratitude, she returned them.”
“And you proposed.”
“Yes. And she accepted.”
“Why the rush to be wed?” Mr. Darcy asked. Dr. Roberts seemed sincere, but he had no way of knowing whether or not the present rector might possess greater talents of deception than had his cousin.
“Have you ever been in love, Mr. Darcy?”
“I fail to perceive the import of your question.”
“Then I can only assume you have not.”
“Your supposition is in error.”
“How long, Mr. Darcy, did you wait to be wed, once the object of your love had accepted your proposal?”
“Well,” he said, in almost a murmur, “Well…we did obtain a special license, but that is not the point—”
“—It is very much the point, sir.”
“And when you are wed, you will continue as a rector?” Mr. Darcy was certai
n he must catch him here; he would snare him with a damaging truth. His answer to the question would reveal how much little the living did, in fact, mean to him.
“Yes.”
“Indeed?”
“Of course. It is my desire to serve the Church.”
Mr. Darcy glanced absently about the parsonage and sighed. He really did not know what to make of Dr. Roberts’s discourse. The gentleman’s voice had the pleasant ring of truth, but it was all too sudden to be believable. Could this man really love Anne de Bourgh? There was only one way to discover the truth. “Let us call upon my cousin.”
CHAPTER SIX
The visit was an awkward one. Mr. Darcy insisted on seeing his cousin alone and put forth to her many questions, which were uncomfortable for both of them, but which must be spoken and answered. Anne was intimidated by her cousin, although he intended no sternness, and even when she came to understand that his call had been made out of earnest concern for her fate, she remained meek in his presence.
In her fiancé’s company, however, Miss de Bourgh was far more bold; Dr. Robert’s calm yet continually amused disposition seemed not only to put her at ease, but also to invite the display of her individuality, a persona that had never before been manifested to her own relatives.
Seeing the pair together soon overturned Mr. Darcy’s opposition. For the next two days he remained a guest at Rosings. He sat with them in the drawing room, dined with them, and observed them from the window as they made their rounds about the park. That both were in love he could not deny, and that Dr. Roberts had transformed Anne by his affections was equally apparent. Mr. Darcy hardly recognized his cousin. Though she was weary and a victim to spells of illness, the bad moments always passed, and they were always tempered by Dr. Roberts’s careful attention to her needs.
*
Elizabeth and Georgiana arrived at Rosings three days after Mr. Darcy, expecting that the wedding would already have been called off, and that Georgiana would need to commiserate with Anne. Instead, they were shown to a drawing room filled with laughter. When they returned to Pemberley after the wedding, Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy to be more at ease than he had been in months.
“Strange,” he said to her one evening as she sat reading, though he had long since closed his book.
“What is strange?” she asked, still seeking a good resting place in the text and not looking at him while she spoke.
“How everything worked out adequately without my intervention. My cousin has married a man who, though perhaps a little idiosyncratic, appears to be respectable enough, and even to love her.”
Mrs. Darcy caught enough of this to be amused by her husband, and she closed her book. Not even the temptation of Lord Byron’s brilliant verse could compete with the pleasure of teasing Mr. Darcy. “Without your intervention, my dear, how is that possible? Surely there is none other who can successfully arrange the affairs of men?”
He shifted in his chair and then repositioned his hands. He tilted his head slightly to one side. She knew this ritual. He was idling time until he could think of a sardonic response, but apparently his wit was wearied this evening, because he crossed and uncrossed his legs and shifted positions again. This unremitting agitation caused Elizabeth Darcy to erupt in spontaneous laughter, and soon her husband was laughing too, more quietly, of course, but at himself. It had taken time, but she had taught him even that.
THE END
Too Clever by Half
Two months before the Darcys’ wedding…
The weather appeared to be holding, though the clouds still threatened rain, and the two engaged couples determined to break free from the stifling confines of Longbourn to walk through nature's luscious byways. When they reached a fork in the road, Jane and Mr. Bingley veered off in one direction, while Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth in the other.
Elizabeth turned and motioned back to her sister and Mr. Bingley, as though to indicate to Mr. Darcy that he had absently taken the wrong turn. He understood her gesture, but he said, "Let the young lovers have their privacy."
Elizabeth laughed at the appellation. "Young? Mr. Darcy, Jane is my senior."
"I wasn't referring to them."
She was pleased by his apparent desire to be alone with her, but she was also nervous. This was the first time since their engagement that they had been entirely unrestrained by the presence of others. Her insecurity faded, however, when she saw him looking down at her with an amused expression on his face. They had crossed wits long before their engagement, but this was a different kind of humour; it revealed a softening of Mr. Darcy's reserve, and she was glad to see it.
"I can judge by the cast of your face," she said, "that you are only toying with me."
Elizabeth merely feigned offense, but Mr. Darcy apparently took her seriously. "I am sorry, Elizabeth, I did not mean to make light…" He fell silent before her amused smile.
Leaning upon his walking staff for support, he continued to look at her as they strolled.
"So," said Elizabeth, when he did not speak to her, "should we comment upon the weather? Or do you prefer some other topic? Religion and politics, of course, are forbidden in polite company." Still he watched her wordlessly. The weight of his gaze was discomforting, but not wholly unpleasant. "Mr. Darcy, you persist in attempting to frighten me. I thought we had progressed beyond this phase."
He smiled hesitantly. "I do not always know the appropriate words to speak on any given occasion."
"You have had little difficulty exchanging words with me before, in company."
"We are not in company, Miss Bennet."
"Indeed we are not." She looked down at her hands as they walked and wondered why this moment should be so awkward. He knew that she loved him; why then did he rarely seem fully at ease with her? She touched his hand gently to stop him from strolling, and he stood patiently. "What weighs on your mind, Fitzwilliam, to make you so silent?"
Fitzwilliam. She had never before allowed herself to call him that. His expressive eyes darkened into a deeper brown, as though surprise had been swallowed by pleasure. He lightly licked his lips, inhaled, and then asked, "Elizabeth, may I kiss you?" He closed his eyes, as if mortified by the hastiness of his question. The steely confidence that had once propelled him through his first marriage proposal was clearly gone.
"Yes," she answered softly. It was just one word, one tiny syllable. She was too softened by his uncharacteristic shyness to tease him with a quip.
He opened his eyes. "You said 'Yes'?"
She smiled at him, but she did not answer.
He repeated himself, more nervously this time, "You said 'Yes'?"
"Yes, Fitzwillaim," she laughed. "I said yes."
"Good." He smiled broadly. "Excellent."
Yet he did not kiss her. Instead, he took her arm and began walking again.
Elizabeth was bewildered. She peered up at his handsome features and tried to read his expression. Was he taunting her? He only appeared sincerely happy. Finally, she asked, "Was there a purpose to your question?"
"Of course," he replied. "My goal was to secure your permission."
"Yet not to act upon it?"
"Ah, well, now that I have your permission, I suppose I may act on it any time I like, mightn't I?"
She stopped walking and looked at him curiously.
"Or," he inquired, "do I need to ask each time until we are married? I'm not sure what the guidelines are on that point."
"Mr. Darcy, I cannot, for the life of me, determine whether you are in earnest."
"About what?"
"About...about anything and everything you have said since we took this path. You behave so strangely."
"In what way?" He actually sounded surprised, as though he really did not perceive the peculiarity in his performance.
"Why, you ask if you may kiss me, you secure my consent, and then you walk on as though the question had never been proposed."
"Oh, but surely you would not wish me to kiss you so soon afte
r asking. That would rather negate the element of surprise, would it not?"
"Isn't that the point?"
"I understood you liked spontaneity. You have a very lively spirit, Elizabeth. It is one of the many things that makes you dear to me."
She could not control her laughter, though she tried. "If you wanted to be spontaneous, Mr. Darcy, why did you bother to ask at all?"
"How could I not? I would never show you such disrespect."
Was Mr. Darcy presently exhibiting a frivolous side of his personality? No, no… from his appalled tone of voice, she deduced he was in earnest.
"So then," she asked him, "I shall never know when the kiss is coming?"
"No, my dear Elizabeth. You cannot guess."
"I'm not sure that's fair. It gives you complete control."
"How is that? You had the power to refuse me."
"Yes, in that one moment, and in that one moment I desired your kiss, but now I am forever at your mercy, for I cannot retract my consent."
"No, Miss Bennet. A woman may retract her refusal, but I do not think she can, in all fairness, retract her consent. Both facts have worked to my advantage since first meeting you."
"Very well then," announced Elizabeth, taking his arm once again. "We will walk on, and I will anticipate no—"
Unexpectedly, he bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek. The impression was still warm when he withdrew, but she had not anticipated it, and so she had missed the pleasure. "Unjust," she accused him. "Most unjust."
"That did not qualify," said Mr. Darcy. "For it was planted only upon your cheek."
"Well you had better warn me when you intend to alight upon my lips, Mr. Darcy, because I would prefer not to miss the experience."
"I cannot promise to forewarn you, my dear Elizabeth,” he said, with a self-satisfied smile upon his face, “but I can at least promise to prolong the experience, in order to ensure that you do not fail to notice it."
The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh Page 4
