Page 15

It was perhaps beneficial to the equilibrium of both cousins that Miss Bennet was absent when they were shown into the parlor.

They managed not to sigh in relief when Mrs. Collins explained that her friend had left after luncheon to run an errand in the village.

Mr. Darcy quickly made his farewells in his usual sedate manner and then departed, leaving Richard behind.

Darcy breathed an immense sigh of relief upon returning to the relative safety of his own rooms at Rosings.

That he had not been forced to face another round of Elizabeth’s righteous anger seemed no small blessing.

After advising his valet that he wished to be left alone until it was time to dress for dinner, Will removed his coat, loosened his cravat, and settled into a chair by the fire.

Like everything at Rosings, it had been chosen to impress rather than comfort so it was not long before he stood, moving to the side table to poor himself a glass of wine.

It was a short glass, but combined with the heavy lunch, he suddenly felt all the exhaustion of his sleepless nights.

Some time later, the rumble of thunder woke Darcy.

Checking his pocket watch, he noted that he had dozed for less than an hour but the light had dimmed dramatically.

Though not yet six o’clock, a blanket of dark clouds had rolled across the sky, hiding the sun.

Wary of how such weather might affect his travel plans, Darcy left his rooms and moved quietly through the mansion to a little used sitting room with windows facing full west.

Standing at the windows, Fitzwilliam Darcy watched the storm front.

Thunder continued to rumble but the only lightning he could see was well to the south.

Counting the seconds as his father had taught him as a boy, he estimated the main storm to be some twenty miles distant.

The London road might get a bit of rain, he guessed, but not the brunt of the storm.

For some minutes, he admired the power of the natural world and let himself be reminded of the insignificance of his own problems. Then, a distinctly human noise caused him to turn back to the room.

“Anne?” he said with some surprise, having believed himself alone. His cousin was across the room, huddled in an armchair that had been turned so as to catch the light from a window.

The sound that had drawn his attention was a book which, forgotten, had slipped from her lap to the floor. Clearly embarrassed to be noticed, Anne loosened the thick blanket that was wrapped around her in order to reach for it. “Hello, Cousin,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eye .

Without a thought, Darcy moved to retrieve the small volume. After handing it to her, he stood considering for a moment and then pulled a second chair over to where she sat. Perhaps he could begin to rectify one of his errors immediately. “May I speak with you for a few minutes, Anne?”

This time Darcy’s cousin looked him full in the face, but her expression reminded him disturbingly of a frightened rabbit caught in a snare.

Adding another portion of guilt to that already weighing upon him, Fitzwilliam realized just how unfair he had been to his cousin.

By never directly contradicting Lady Catherine’s dreams of a Darcy-de Bourgh union, he had provided himself with a buffer from some of the husband-hunting ton (at least, those who listened Lady Catherine).

However, he had left his poor cousin to bear her mother’s whims and fancies while never considering that he held the keys to Anne’s prison as firmly as did his aunt.

Settling himself, Darcy gathered his thoughts before speaking. “Anne, your mother has spoken often of her desire for a match between us but we two have never discussed it ourselves.”

“Oh!” she squeaked, red spots blooming in her sallow cheeks.

Pressing herself as far back into her chair as she could, Anne peeked up at her intimidating cousin.

Glad to see that he appeared more startled than angered, she murmured softly “I apologize, Cousin… I was only surprised that you would want to talk about… that,” she ended weakly.

Darcy spent a few moments studying his cousin, realizing that although their family often spoke of her, he could not think of a time when he had actually spoken with her beyond the usual courtesies.

Elizabeth’s words echoed in his head, “…your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others...” Well, this was one error in behavior that he could correct.

He decided that it would be best to be direct.

“Anne, I will be honest. I care for you as a cousin, almost a sister, but I am not at all sure that I could ever feel for you as a husband should love his wife.”

Miss de Bourgh stared at him in astonishment, having spent a lifetime with a mother who dismissed love as the stuff of childish fairytales; certainly nothing to do with the business of marriage. To hear her serious, ever-dutiful cousin speak of such feelings as important left her stunned.

Darcy forged ahead. “I also worry for your health. Being Mistress of Pemberley is not an easy duty for the most fit of women.” Forcing his mind away from a vision of Elizabeth’s healthy pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, he considered how to speak on a subject important to him but most sensitive to his sickly cousin.

“Lately, I have been thinking a great deal on what I want from marriage. Although Richard would probably laugh at my saying such a thing, I should dearly like to see Pemberley’s nursery full of children again. ”

Anne could not help but squirm. Most of what she knew about marriage and the production of children came from her mother, whose own marriage had been a wholly miserable ordeal. Anne’s more recent observations of the newly wedded Collinses had done nothing to change her distaste for the institution.

She was not certain how a man might go about “planting his seed” in her, as she had read about in her novels, but it seemed to involve a great deal of petting (which she had no desire for) and pain (according to her mother).

A tenant had once presented a newborn babe, only hours old, to Miss de Bourgh for blessing.

The thought that such an enormous thing would grow inside a woman and then force its way out terrified her.

Anne still recalled the pain of passing a stone when she was sixteen with a shiver and it had been less the size of a pea.

In short, Miss de Bourgh was uncomfortable around men in general and her tall, serious cousin in particular.

She had no interest in children and, to be honest, no desire for physical contact of any kind.

Lady Catherine might believe herself to have educated her daughter on the running of an estate, but Anne had paid as little attention to her mother’s poorly conceived lectures as to the lengthy monologues that lady considered conversation.

Although Anne would have liked to have some time away from her overbearing parent, she held no aspirations to run an estate or even a household. It all sounded so very… exhausting.

Seeing that Darcy was looking at her expectantly, Anne realized that her cousin was still waiting for a response.

Deciding that he might not react well if she told him that she would prefer to live out her days in a quiet cottage somewhere warm with unlimited supplies of novels and pastries, she decided to see how he would react to a smidgeon of truth.

“I fear I don’t I have the energy for such things. I do not believe that I wish to marry at all. Please don’t take it personally, Cousin.”

Considering her cousin’s face for a moment, Miss de Bourgh finally identified the dominant emotion in his eyes as relief.

She was not certain that she should allow such a feeling in her suitor; her mother had made it perfectly clear that any gentleman, the Prince of Wales included, would be honored should the heiress of Rosings Park deign to give him her hand.

However, mustering the appropriate indignation seemed like too much effort to bother with.

Darcy reminded himself that he was speaking to the daughter of Lady Catherine and quelled all thoughts of humor over such a statement. “Do not worry about offending me, Anne. If you are certain, then I shall speak to Aunt Catherine tonight after dinner.”

Anne nodded slightly, but enough that Darcy was satisfied his plan met with her approval. “Is there anything you do wish for? Something that I could suggest to your mother when I speak with her? Perhaps a trip to London or Derbyshire? ”

Anne shook her head. “I think not, but I shall consider it, Cousin.” His expression had brought back a long forgotten memory of young Fitzwilliam Darcy earnestly insisting that she take the last biscuit at a tea party the girls had hosted in the Pemberley nursery.

“It has been a long time since I visited Pemberley,” she added softly.

“It has been a long time since we have had a family gathering of any sort at Pemberley,” Will responded seriously.

“I remember visiting Derbyshire when we were children,” offered Anne after a moment.

“Mother would complain about how far north it was, but I liked it. The house always seemed so warm and… and happy.” Unspoken was the comparison to the wretchedness that had always pervaded Rosings.

“Uncle Darcy was so jolly and Aunt Anne was always playing the piano or the harp. Except for the last visit, of course,” she trailed off weakly.