Page 24 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

“His intentions, certainly,” Darcy replied quietly. “Though perhaps not in the manner he intended. I believe we shall need to be particularly vigilant regarding his pursuit of Anne.”

Elizabeth’s gaze followed his to where Anne now listened to Lord Joseph with evident enjoyment, her usual pallor warmed by animation. “And what of Lord Joseph’s attentions? Do you find them equally concerning?”

Darcy considered the question carefully before responding. “Less calculating, certainly. Whether that makes them more or less appropriate for Anne’s situation remains to be seen.”

“Anne seems to find them agreeable, at least,” Elizabeth observed with her characteristic perception. “Perhaps more than agreeable. I have rarely seen her smile so naturally in company.”

It was true, Darcy acknowledged silently.

Whatever literary merits Lord Joseph’s poetry might lack, his genuine admiration had accomplished what all of Lady Catherine’s careful planning and Mrs. Jenkinson’s vigilant chaperoning had failed to achieve: it had brought Anne to life in society, transforming her from a silent observer to an active participant in her own right.

As the evening continued with another musical performance, Darcy found himself watching not the performers but his quiet cousin, who for once seemed perfectly content in her place at a social gathering, accepting Lord Joseph’s extravagant compliments with a grace that suggested she found them neither burdensome nor unwelcome.

It was a development that would certainly displease Lady Catherine, yet Darcy could not find it in himself to disapprove of any attention that brought such evident pleasure to Anne’s usually solemn countenance.

As the musical portion of the evening concluded and guests dispersed toward the card room and refreshment tables, Darcy found himself seeking a moment’s respite from the constant social demands.

He made his way toward a small alcove near the library, intent on securing a glass of Lord Matlock’s excellent port before rejoining the company.

It was as he approached this quieter corner of the house that he heard voices emerging from the partially open door of a small study, the marquess’s distinctive patrician tones clearly recognisable despite his evident attempt to speak quietly.

“The situation has become untenable, Farrington,” the marquess was saying, his voice stripped of the polished urbanity he normally maintained in company.

“Billingsley is threatening legal action if I cannot make payment by quarter day, and the Blackwell property yields barely half what it did in my father’s time.

The tenants claim they cannot pay higher rents, but what concern are their petty hardships to a family that has maintained its position for centuries? ”

Darcy paused, knowing he should announce his presence or move away, yet finding himself reluctant to do either. A gentleman did not eavesdrop, yet the marquess’s earlier conversation regarding Anne made this accidental overhearing seem almost providential.

“Cannot your sister’s husband provide some temporary relief?” the other man, presumably Farrington, suggested. “Somersly has considerable holdings.”

“Edward has already refused further assistance,” the marquess replied, bitterness evident in his tone.

“Claims his own estates require all available capital for improvements, as though farming innovations were more important than preserving one of England’s oldest titles.

No, there is only one viable solution remaining. ”

“The heiress?” Farrington asked, lowering his voice further, though not enough to prevent Darcy from catching the words. “Miss de Bourgh?”

“Precisely. Rosings Park alone yields eight thousand per annum, and there are additional investments and properties besides. More than sufficient to clear my debts and restore Byerly Court to its proper condition.”

“But her health, Byerly. Everyone says she is not likely to survive childbearing. You would need an heir to secure the fortune permanently.”

The marquess’s laugh held no humour. “An exaggeration, I suspect, cultivated by her mother to discourage fortune hunters of lesser rank. Even if there is some truth to it, we need only one heir. After that, her continued health becomes a matter of considerably less significance.”

The cold calculation in this statement sent a chill through Darcy’s blood. Here was confirmation of his worst suspicions regarding the marquess’s intentions toward Anne, laid bare in the most callous terms imaginable.

“And the girl herself?” Farrington pursued. “She seems a dull, silent thing. Hardly the vivacious society wife one might wish for.”

“What matter?” the marquess replied dismissively. “She will serve her purpose by restoring the Byerly fortunes. Her conversation, or lack thereof, is entirely immaterial to the transaction. She may remain at Rosings if she pleases once an heir is secured.”

Darcy had heard enough. More than enough.

Stepping quietly away from the door, he moved down the corridor with controlled anger in his stride, his mind racing with protective fury at the casual way these men had discussed Anne, as though she were livestock to be acquired for breeding purposes rather than a young woman of gentle sensibilities and considerable personal worth far beyond her material wealth.

He found Anne still seated with Lord Joseph, who appeared to be sketching something in his notebook while explaining it to her with characteristic animation.

For once, Darcy found himself genuinely grateful for the poet’s attentions to his cousin.

Whatever Lord Joseph’s literary shortcomings, at least his interest in Anne appeared genuine rather than mercenary.

The remainder of the evening passed without further interaction with the marquess, who emerged from the study some time later looking considerably less confident than he had earlier.

Darcy made certain to position himself near Anne whenever the marquess appeared to be approaching, a protective manoeuvre that Elizabeth noticed with a questioning glance but did not comment upon until they were safely ensconced in their carriage returning to Darcy House.

Georgiana and Kitty chatted quietly about the evening’s performances while Anne gazed out the window, a slight smile playing about her lips as she absently traced the edge of a folded paper that Darcy suspected contained some poetic offering from Lord Joseph.

“You became quite the vigilant guardian after your conversation with the marquess,” Elizabeth observed in an undertone, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Did he say something particularly concerning?”

“Not then,” Darcy replied quietly, “but I will explain when we are alone.”

The journey continued in comfortable conversation, with Kitty recounting the Italian countess’s comments on the viscount’s recitation with barely suppressed laughter, and Georgiana shyly accepting compliments on her performance with Mr. Townend.

By the time they reached Darcy House, even Anne had joined the general conversation, offering a surprisingly astute observation about one of the musical pieces that revealed a depth of understanding Darcy had not previously recognised in his quiet cousin.

Once the young ladies had retired upstairs and the servants had withdrawn, Darcy found himself alone with Elizabeth in the comfortable privacy of their private sitting room.

He related the conversation he had overheard, watching her expression shift from curiosity to apprehension and finally to outright indignation.

“How dare he?” she exclaimed when he had finished his account. “To speak of Anne in such calculating terms, as though she were nothing more than the sum of her inheritance. It is beyond contemptible.”

“It confirms our worst suspicions about his intentions,” Darcy agreed, pacing before the fire with restless energy. “The question now becomes how best to protect Anne from his machinations without restricting her own freedom of choice.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened into thoughtfulness. “She seemed to enjoy Lord Joseph’s company this evening. Did you notice how animated she became when he showed her his sketches? I have never seen her so responsive in society before.”

“Yes, I observed that as well,” Darcy admitted, somewhat surprised by his own reaction to this memory. “Though Lord Joseph’s artistic talents appear to be on par with his poetic ones, if the glimpse I caught of his drawing is any indication.”

“Yet Anne found something to appreciate in his efforts,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“Perhaps because they were offered with genuine enthusiasm rather than calculation. There is something refreshingly honest about Lord Joseph’s ridiculousness.

He makes no pretence of being anything other than what he is. ”

Darcy considered this assessment, finding more truth in it than he might once have acknowledged. “A stark contrast to the marquess, certainly.”

“The question remains,” Elizabeth said, returning to their central concern, “how do we protect Anne without controlling her? I do not with to treat her as Lady Catherine might, to dictate whom she may or may not consider as a suitor.”

“No,” Darcy agreed. “Though we might certainly make the marquess’s character and intentions clear to her, should she show any inclination toward accepting his attentions.”

“A delicate balance,” Elizabeth mused. “To inform without commanding, to guide without controlling.”

“A balance I would not have understood the importance of a year ago,” Darcy admitted, taking the seat beside her and covering her hand with his own.

“Before a certain young woman from Hertfordshire taught me the value of allowing individuals to determine their own happiness, even when their choices differ from what others might consider prudent.”

Elizabeth’s eyes softened at this reference to their own complicated path to marriage. “You have learned that lesson remarkably well, Mr. Darcy.”

“I had an excellent teacher,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips in a gesture of both affection and gratitude. “And while I would spare Anne the pain of disillusionment, I would not deny her the right to discover her own heart’s desires, however unexpected they might prove to be.”

“Even if those desires lead her toward a gentleman whose poetry makes those who appreciate good literature cringe with horror?” Elizabeth asked, her expression teasing yet tender.

“Even then,” Darcy acknowledged with a reluctant smile. “Though it pains me to imagine Lady Catherine’s reaction should her daughter develop a preference for a gentleman whose primary distinction is his ability to compose sonnets about moonlight with more enthusiasm than talent.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, the sound warming him more effectively than the fire.

“Oh, my love, I believe your aunt’s reaction would provide entertainment sufficient to last us through several Seasons.

Though in fairness to Lord Joseph, his admiration for Anne appears to be directed at her person rather than her fortune, which places him considerably higher in my estimation than the marquess, regardless of his literary shortcomings. ”

“A fair assessment,” Darcy conceded, finding himself increasingly amenable to the possibility that Anne’s happiness might be found in an unexpected quarter. “We shall continue to observe, to protect where necessary, but not to interfere with Anne’s own developing preferences.”

“A wise approach,” Elizabeth agreed, leaning comfortably against his shoulder. “And one that acknowledges what I believe we are both beginning to recognise: that Anne possesses more strength and discernment than she has previously been given credit for.”

As they sat together in companionable silence, Darcy reflected on the evening’s revelations, both about the marquess’s calculated designs and about Anne’s surprising responsiveness to genuine, if artistically questionable, attention.

Perhaps his quiet cousin, so long overshadowed by her mother’s domineering personality, was finally discovering her own preferences and strengths.

If so, he would do everything in his power to ensure she had the freedom to pursue them, just as Elizabeth had once helped him recognise the importance of following his own heart, regardless of social expectations or family pressures.

“You are contemplating something particularly satisfying,” Elizabeth observed, studying his expression with fond curiosity. “I recognise that look.”

“I was merely thinking,” Darcy replied, drawing her closer, “that while we must protect Anne from fortune hunters and libertines, we might also need to protect her from well-meaning but controlling relatives who would deny her the very happiness they claim to seek for her.”

“Now that,” Elizabeth said with a smile that lit her entire countenance, “sounds remarkably like mischief, Mr. Darcy.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged, returning her smile with one of his own. “But I suspect it is a variety of mischief of which you would thoroughly approve.”

“Entirely,” she assured him, her eyes bright with affection and understanding. “There are few things more worthy of a little well-placed mischief than ensuring a deserving heart finds its proper match, regardless of what society or even family might dictate.”

As the clock chimed the late hour, Darcy found himself filled with a renewed sense of purpose regarding his quiet cousin’s future.

Whether her happiness lay with an eccentric poet, a serious musician, or someone yet to appear in their social circle, he would ensure she had both the protection and the freedom necessary to discover it for herself.

It was, he reflected, perhaps the most valuable lesson Elizabeth had taught him: that true happiness came not from conforming to others’ expectations but from having the courage to recognise and pursue one’s own heart’s desires.