Page 42 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

She nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her features. “Thank you. I believe I would find it... comforting... to speak with him.”

“And Viscount Shandly sent flowers,” Kitty added, gesturing toward an arrangement of white roses on the side table. “With a note expressing his condolences and asking if he might pay a brief visit today as well.”

It struck Darcy how much Kitty had matured in recent months. The girl who had once giggled incessantly at any male attention now spoke of the viscount’s gesture with quiet dignity, her manner revealing neither girlish excitement nor maudlin display of emotion.

“The same applies to you, Kitty,” he told her. “You may receive the viscount if you wish it. Though perhaps it would be best if both gentlemen called at different hours, to maintain a sense of decorum.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Anne in the doorway, her face bearing the hollowed look of sleepless nights and suppressed grief. Mrs. Jenkinson hovered behind her, maintaining her usual posture of anxious supervision.

“Good morning, Anne,” Darcy said, rising automatically. “Will you join us for breakfast?”

Anne shook her head slightly. “I have no appetite this morning.” She hesitated, then added in a voice slightly stronger than her appearance would have suggested, “I have been thinking, Cousin, that perhaps it would be best if I were to return to Rosings, and I have written to my mother suggesting it. London holds... difficult memories now.”

Before Darcy could respond, Mrs. Jenkinson stepped forward with ill-concealed eagerness.

“A most sensible decision, Miss Anne. The London air has never agreed with your constitution, and these recent distressing events can only have exacerbated the effect. Lady Catherine will be most relieved to have you home again.”

Darcy noted the flash of irritation that crossed Anne’s face, quickly suppressed but revealing nonetheless. Her relationship with her companion had visibly shifted since their arrival in London, with Anne increasingly resistant to Mrs. Jenkinson’s assuming authority she did not rightfully possess.

“If you truly wish to return to Rosings, Anne, arrangements can be made,” Darcy replied carefully. “Though there is no need to rush into a decision while you are still processing this shock. You are welcome here for as long as you desire to stay.”

“That is kind of you,” Anne said, moving into the room and taking a seat near the fireplace. “The truth is, I hardly know what I wish for, except perhaps a respite from...” She trailed off, her gaze drifting toward the window.

Mrs. Jenkinson immediately moved to adjust a shawl around Anne’s shoulders.

“From the constant reminders of that unfortunate gentleman, no doubt. Perhaps at Rosings you might put the entire episode behind you. After all, your acquaintance with Lord Joseph was quite brief, and while his death was certainly shocking, the attachment was hardly of long standing.”

Darcy observed the tightening of Anne’s fingers on the arm of her chair, the only visible sign of her reaction to this insensitive remark. Before he could intervene, however, Harrison appeared with the morning post.

“Letters for Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy,” the butler announced, presenting the silver salver with his usual formality.

Anne took her letter with a flicker of surprise that quickly faded to resignation as she recognised the handwriting. “From my mother,” she said unnecessarily.

Darcy watched as she broke the seal and began to read, her expression growing increasingly pinched as she progressed through what appeared to be a lengthy missive. When she finally looked up, her face had settled into a calm that seemed more dangerous than distress.

“It appears,” she said with careful precision, “that my mother does not wish me to return to Rosings at present. She fears the investigation might follow me there, bringing scandal to Kent. She suggests I remain in London until the ‘unfortunate matter’ is resolved, preferably without further connection to Lord Joseph’s name. ”

The controlled anger in Anne’s voice was striking to Darcy, who had rarely heard her express any strong emotion in the past. More striking still was the realisation that Lady Catherine considered her own comfort and reputation more important than her daughter’s grief and wishes.

“Rosings is your home, Anne,” he said, unable to entirely disguise his irritation. “It belongs to you, not to your mother. If you wish to return there, you have every right to do so, regardless of Lady Catherine’s preferences in the matter.”

“Does it? Belong to me?” Anne asked, a curious mixture of bitterness and genuine inquiry in her tone. “In theory, perhaps. In practice, I have never been allowed to exercise any real authority over the estate or household.”

“The legal reality is incontrovertible,” Darcy stated firmly. “Rosings Park became yours upon your father’s death, with certain provisions for your mother’s maintenance. If you wish to assert your authority over your own property, you have my full support in doing so.”

Mrs. Jenkinson made a small sound of distress. “Mr. Darcy, I hardly think this is an appropriate topic. Miss Anne is not well enough to consider such... contentious matters. And surely Lady Catherine knows what is best for both Rosings and her daughter.”

“I believe Miss de Bourgh is entirely capable of determining what is best for herself,” Darcy replied with the firm politeness he reserved for those who particularly tried his patience.

“And as for her health, constant infantilisation has done more to undermine it than any actual physical condition I have observed.”

Before Mrs. Jenkinson could respond to this unprecedented challenge to her role, Harrison reappeared at the doorway, his expression maintaining perfect neutrality despite the tension in the room.

“The Marquess of Byerly has called, sir. He particularly requests to pay his respects to Miss de Bourgh.”

Darcy felt a surge of antipathy toward the marquess, whose timing seemed calculated for maximum advantage. To call upon Anne now, when she was vulnerable in her grief, struck him as opportunistic in the extreme.

“Please inform the marquess that we are not receiving visitors,” he began, but Anne interrupted him.

“No, I will see him.” Her voice held surprising firmness. “I should like to hear what he has to say.”

Darcy studied her face for a moment, recognising the resolve in her expression. “Very well. Show him in, Harrison.”

The marquess entered with perfectly judged solemnity, his expression composed into one of appropriate gravity. “Miss de Bourgh,” he greeted Anne, bowing with formal correctness. “I came as soon as I heard the shocking news. Please accept my deepest condolences for your distress.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Anne replied, her voice cool and controlled. “It was unexpected news upon your return from Hampshire, I imagine.”

“Most unexpected,” the marquess confirmed, apparently missing the faint edge in Anne’s tone. “A terrible tragedy. Lord Joseph was a... colourful character. His presence will certainly be missed in society.”

Darcy watched the exchange with growing distaste. The marquess’s condolences had the hollow ring of obligation rather than genuine feeling, his careful phrasing calculated to acknowledge the death without suggesting any real loss.

“His presence will be missed by many,” Anne agreed, a subtle emphasis on the last word. “He had a gift for bringing joy into otherwise formal gatherings.”

The marquess nodded gravely, though Darcy detected a hint of impatience beneath the man’s carefully maintained expression of sympathy.

“Indeed. Though of course, time heals all wounds, even those that seem most grievous in the moment. In due course, you will find your spirits reviving. Particularly if surrounded by those who truly understand your position and responsibilities.”

The shift in conversation was so transparent that Darcy felt a surge of genuine anger. Not five minutes into a condolence call, and the marquess was already positioning himself as Anne’s future companion.

“I believe Miss de Bourgh understands her own position quite thoroughly,” Darcy said, his tone cold. “And at present, she is in mourning for a friend whom she held in genuine regard.”

The marquess seemed momentarily taken aback by this direct rebuke, but quickly recovered his composure.

“Of course, of course. I merely meant to offer perspective. And to assure Miss de Bourgh that when she feels ready to resume her normal activities, she will find steadfast friends ready to support her.”

Darcy had heard enough. The marquess’s transparent attempt to use Anne’s grief as an opportunity to advance his suit was beyond distasteful.

“I believe Miss de Bourgh is fatigued, my lord,” he said, rising to indicate the visit should conclude.

“We appreciate your condolences, but must ask you to excuse us.”

The marquess appeared momentarily affronted by this dismissal, but social training prevailed.

“Of course. I would not wish to intrude upon your privacy during this difficult time.” He bowed to Anne.

“Please remember that you have friends who stand ready to support you, Miss de Bourgh. When you are ready.”

After the marquess had been shown out, Darcy turned to find Anne watching him with an expression of surprising clarity given her earlier distress.

“Thank you, Cousin,” she said simply. “For seeing him exactly as he is.”

Darcy nodded, recognising in that moment that Anne had changed more profoundly than any of them had realised. Grief had stripped away her habitual deference, revealing a woman capable of clearsighted judgment even in the midst of personal suffering.