Page 45 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

Netherfield Park, the following morning…

“Inform Cook I shall take a tray this morning.”

Barty looked at him.

Is that pity on his face?

“Sir, I regret to inform you that Lady Catherine has forbidden trays for the nonce.”

“She’s what?”

“I quote,” he said, lifting his chin to where Darcy could see up into his nostrils. “Unless injured or an invalid, we shall dine as the English are meant to do. In good humour and exquisite manners.”

Darcy gaped.

“Yes, sir, the irony is, well…” Barty laid out the day’s armour. “Shall we gird up, sir?”

* * *

Darcy entered the breakfast-parlour to find... Anne.

“Good morning, Fitzwilliam.” She flicked her wrist, her hand extended just so.

Darcy kissed it. “Anne.” He filled a plate from the sideboard. “May I prepare something for you?”

“Ever the gentleman.” She sipped from her teacup.

Darcy shrugged and looked about.

She chuckled.

“May I ask what has tickled your fancy?”

“Hoping for an escape, are we?” Anne said.

Darcy smirked.

“Fear not, Cousin. Even the most artful players cannot hold the board forever.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Hudson opened the drawing room door and gestured for Darcy. He announced sotto voce , “Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”

Did he just click his heels?

Lady Catherine, her walking stick set before her like a sceptre, presided over the room from the centre chair. Lace cuffs covered her ringed fingers. Mr Collins stood stiff as a church pillar to her left; she had sat Anne to her right.

Darcy bowed—a measured, deliberate gesture. He would play her game. “You have done wonders with this room in short order, Your Ladyship.”

Mrs Jenkinson adjusted his cousin’s shawl. Anne undid her efforts with theatrical indifference. Mr Collins’s head bobbed left, then right.

Lady Catherine eyes narrowed. “I have made inquiries, Fitzwilliam.”

So, you claim. “Ma’am?”

“Oh, do not insult my intelligence! Your improper attentions towards that Bennet girl are no secret to me. I have gathered all that is necessary and can assure you, beyond question, that she is beneath your notice.”

Darcy tilted his head. “And how did you come to this certainty?”

“I have it on the very best authority—Mr Collins, for one.”

The entire room turned to him. He blanched. “Your Ladyship, I—that is to say—”

Lady Catherine waved a hand. “Furthermore, I have spoken with the milliner—”

“You conducted an inquisition upon a hatmaker?”

“She was most forthcoming.”

“A formidable judge of character, no doubt.”

“As well as the butler at Lucas Lodge and the apothecary, who swears your Miss Bennet sees visions—”

“Good heavens,” Darcy replied.

“Most damning of all, I have learned of your mortifying conduct at the Meryton Assembly.”

Darcy went still.

Her eyes gleamed. “You saw her, and you ran.”

Mr Collins let out a strangled gasp.

“The entire town speaks of it. They say you took one look at her unnatural eyes and fled like a man beset by devils.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “A miscalculation, madam. Would you have preferred I stood and gaped like a village dullard?”

Lady Catherine sat back, lips edged with satisfaction. “You have proven my point. Even you, the epitome of propriety, were repulsed. And now, you mean to tell me you find her suitable? Nephew, you must come to your senses.”

Darcy straightened. He looked down his nose at her. “I left because I was unprepared.”

Lady Catherine scoffed. “An excuse.”

“The truth.”

She lifted her chin. “And then there is the family. Chaotic, ill-mannered, entirely unregulated! No governess to be had. Five daughters out. The eldest yet unmarried. And your Miss Elizabeth—”

“Is none of the things you describe.”

Lady Catherine’s mouth thinned.

Anne sipped her tea loudly, intentionally.

Mr Collins gasped, but Darcy could not stop his smile.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Lady Catherine pressed, “is independent to the point of folly. She walks unchaperoned, she befriends the servants, she plays chess with men, she—”

“Possesses a mind superior to most,” Darcy said.

Lady Catherine clucked her tongue. “You would stake the honour of Pemberley, your name, your future heirs, on a penniless country girl, bred among vulgarity, whose very eyes mark her as unnatural?”

“Yes.”

Mr Collins made a strangled sound.

Anne set down her teacup with deliberate care and rose. “Are you speaking of Lady Anne? My aunt? Fitzwilliam’s mother?” She walked towards Darcy; her eyes fixed on the marble statue her mother had become. “Your beloved sister?”

Lady Catherine’s fingers whitened against her cane.

Darcy offered his arm. “Curious, is it not, Cousin, that Mr George Darcy found her quite…worthy.”

Lady Catherine’s cane struck the floor. Mr Collins whimpered.

Anne placed her hand upon his forearm. “Fascinating.”

Darcy inclined his head. “I shall look forward to the evening’s entertainment.” He led Anne from the room.

* * *

The drawing room doors remained open behind them. Lady Catherine remained with a pale and shaken Mr Collins. Mrs Jenkinson fluttered towards Anne.

“No.”

Mrs Jenkinson hesitated. “But—”

Anne unravelled the last muffler and dropped it to the floor. “You may tidy me when I am dead.”

Mrs Jenkinson let out a breath, hesitated, then curtsied. “Yes, miss.”

“Good girl.” Darcy led her towards the staircase. “Well?”

“You cannot expect me to endure Mother’s dramatics without due compensation.” Her smile was distinctly feline. “Tell me about your Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Darcy took deliberate care to adjust his cuffs.

Anne smirked. “A lost cause, Cousin.”

“And how, pray, do I look?”

“As if bracing for cannon fire.”

Darcy huffed a quiet laugh. He slowed to keep pace with her on the stairs.

“You know, I have no quarrel with Miss Elizabeth.”

He studied her.

“I am, in fact, rather fond of the idea of her,” she continued. “She will save me from a most odious fate.”

Darcy exhaled. “Anne.”

She waved a hand. “Do not ‘Anne’ me, Darcy. We both know where this path ends. If you marry, Mother must surrender this absurd delusion that I am waiting in the wings like some tragic wraith.”

“You could always tell her.”

Anne snorted, inelegant but expressive. “And rob her of her only remaining pleasure? No, no, that would be too cruel.”

“You are magnanimous, indeed.”

“Yes—yes, I am a saint.”

Darcy inclined his head. “You do not wish to leave Rosings.”

“No, Fitzwilliam, I do not. Rosings is mine. It has always been mine.”

“It turned a profit when you came into your majority.” Darcy considered that. “You allowed your mother to continue her reign.”

Anne lifted a brow. “I allowed her to believe it. She busies herself with correspondence and theatrics.”

She patted his arm. “I sign the ledgers.”

Darcy shook his head. “You are Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s daughter.”

“I am that,” she replied. “And you, Cousin, will wed your Miss Bennet and give me my freedom.”

Darcy glanced away. “It is not so simple.”

“Of course it is.” Anne tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. “You love her.” Anne’s lips curled. “You do. Do not shy away from the truth.”

Darcy tensed and looked at his shoes. “She is unlike anyone I have ever known.”

Anne hummed. “And your ridiculous flight from the assembly?”

Darcy rubbed a hand across his jaw. “She, her eyes—” He pressed thumb to temple. “She is not unnatural, Anne.”

“I never said she was. Mother’s opinions are not mine. I should like to meet her.”

“You will like her.”

“I know.” Anne released his arm and stretched. “And she will like me.”

“A bold claim.”

“It is not a claim, Cousin. It is a certainty.” She opened her room’s door. “I shall dress for dinner. You would do well to do the same. It would not do to meet the future mistress of Pemberley in disarray.”

And with that, she was gone .