Page 58 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
ELIZABETH
I stared at Fitzwilliam, unable to believe what he had just said. My mouth opened to protest—but no sound emerged. The room seemed to fall into a stillness so absolute, it was as if time itself had paused. Fitzwilliam was no longer speaking; he sat completely motionless, his expression unreadable.
Then, clear as a bell and unmistakably real, I heard a voice—one I had not truly heard in years.
“Elizabeth Bennet Darcy,” came my Grandmama Bennet’s firm, no-nonsense tone, “how many times must I remind you to listen before you speak? Do not let your indignation drown out your good sense.”
For a moment, I sat frozen, stunned. Her voice had often echoed in my mind these past months, a comforting presence born of memory and longing—but this was different. This time, I had not imagined it. I had heard her—audibly.
“What do you mean, Grandmama?” I asked, looking around me to see if I could determine where the voice was coming from.
“You are too prone to react and then think. This is not the time to do that, not with your relationship still so new. Listen to what he is saying instead of becoming indignant at what you think he means. He is attempting to protect you, not punish you or treat your relations as if they are less.”
“But he is saying I cannot visit the Gardiners. You know them; you know what good people they are,” I protested, not ready to admit I could be wrong.
“Elizabeth, he is not saying you can never see them again, merely that, in the current environment, you ought not to visit them. They can still come to you. Do not be so hasty to assume the worst.”
With that wise counsel echoing in my mind, the world seemed to shift back into motion.
Fitzwilliam was watching me closely, his gaze intent and wary.
He expected my anger—I could see it in the slight tension around his mouth and the guarded way he held himself.
And beneath that, I recognised something more painful: the shame of disappointing me.
I drew a slow breath, forcing the heat in my chest to cool.
When I spoke, my voice was far calmer than it would have been moments before.
“Very well, Fitzwilliam,” I said. “You have more experience with the ton than I do, and whilst I may not like it, I understand your reasoning. Once we are no longer under such scrutiny—when the rumours fade—then we will visit Gracechurch Street. In the meantime, might I invite them here for a visit early next week? I would very much like to see my cousins. Do you think it best to ask them for dinner or for a luncheon so they might stay the whole afternoon?”
He blinked, visibly surprised by my measured response. “Whichever you wish, dearest,” he said at last, still watching me as if unsure I was serious. Then, more softly, with a flicker of hesitation in his voice, he asked, “You are not… upset with me for asking this of you?”
I laid my hand on his. “No, Fitzwilliam, I am not. Just as you needed a nudge not to insult me that night at the assembly, I needed my own prodding. Mine was from my Grandmama Bennet, whose voice I have heard frequently ever since you entered that assembly hall that night. ”
Fitzwilliam simply stared at me. Although we had spoken of what happened at the assembly a few times during our days in the carriage between Scotland and Pemberley and London, I think it shocked him to learn that I had also heard from someone who was long dead.
“Just now?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Just as she often did when I was young, she reminded me to truly listen—to hear what was being said, rather than assume I already understood your intentions. I imagine this will not be the last time in our marriage that I leap to the wrong conclusion, but in matters like this, we must stand together. My temper would have cooled eventually, no doubt, but we do not know what tomorrow holds. Tonight, we would have gone to bed angry with one another with angry words still ringing in our ears, and tomorrow we must face your aunt—and possibly any number of other challenges.”
Fitzwilliam nodded and, after a pause, drew me into his arms. We remained that way for several quiet minutes, wrapped in each other’s presence as we drew strength from each other.
I do not know how long we remained like that before the door was flung open without ceremony.
A tall, imposing woman swept into the room, her sharp gaze scowling at us with barely concealed disdain.
Just behind her stood a pale young lady—perhaps only a few years older than I—whose frail appearance belied the unmistakable determination in her eyes.
Several servants clustered behind them, including Mr. Smythe, who looked flustered and more than a little displeased. He met Fitzwilliam’s gaze and gave a shallow bow before hurrying off to attend to whatever that glance had indicated.
“What is the meaning of this, Fitzwilliam?” the matron snapped, drawing herself up with theatrical indignation. Her tone suggested she was long accustomed to obedience and deference—and fully expected both now .
Fitzwilliam rose from the settee, and I followed suit. He immediately offered me his arm which I took with a steady smile. As he patted my hand gently and glanced down at me, I could feel his support—and his warning.
“Good evening, Aunt Catherine,” he said blandly, as though he were accustomed to visitors barging in without a word at all hours of the day. The only indication that he was feeling anything was the way he gripped my hand that lay on his arm.
“We had not expected you until tomorrow. Unfortunately, my wife and I are not entertaining visitors right now, so you will be obligated to stay at Matlock House or perhaps open your own home for however long you intend to remain in London. Elizabeth and I need to dress for dinner, so we will show you out ourselves. Perhaps you can call at a more appropriate time tomorrow afternoon. Then you can get to know my wife for yourself before making any hasty declarations that will cause a break in the family.”
She scoffed. “What is this nonsense about a wife? You cannot possibly be married—you are engaged to Anne!”
Fitzwilliam sighed, the sort of weary exhalation born of an argument long endured.
“No, Aunt Catherine, I am not engaged to my cousin. I married Elizabeth before a minister in Scotland several weeks ago. My mother never intended for me to marry Anne, and you know this. She made her wishes clear to you when I was still a boy, and I have repeated them to you more times than I can count. That you chose to ignore those truths has always been your choice—not mine. You have known for years that Anne and I would not marry; neither of us ever wished it.”
“Neither of you knows what is best,” she insisted.
Anne stepped forward and placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mother, I told you before we ever left Kent—this was a fool’s errand. Even if you had somehow browbeaten Fitzwilliam into a proposal, I would not have accepted. I have no wish to marry him. ”
Drawing herself up with quiet determination, Anne stepped forward and spoke very firmly, looking between her mother and Fitzwilliam.
“However, now that I am here, I intend to remain in London for the Season with Uncle Henry and Aunt Helen. They have extended the invitation for years, but Mother has always refused to allow me to go. Since she ensured I had no means to travel on my own, I took the opportunity presented to me by this abrupt trip to London—and I will make my own plans moving forward.”
Her gaze hardened further. “I have funds from my allowance set aside, and I know that Rosings, by right, is mine. Uncle Henry has long promised to assist me, and I have no doubt Darcy will as well. When you return to Kent—after Uncle has delivered the scolding you deserve for this ill-conceived attempt to interfere—you will move into the dower house.”
She lifted her chin, her voice as cool as it was composed. “And if I must replace every servant at Rosings to ensure they answer to me rather than you, then so be it. With Uncle’s help, I will see it done.”
It was evident Fitzwilliam had never witnessed this version of his cousin before.
After a brief pause, he said carefully, “Of course, Anne. You shall have my support in whatever you need. I was under the impression that Uncle Louis’s will left Rosings to Aunt Catherine for her lifetime.
Have you discovered something different? ”
“I have,” Anne replied coolly, casting a withering glance at her mother, who remained momentarily stunned into silence by her daughter’s unexpected defiance.
But only a heartbeat later, Lady Catherine sputtered, “It is not true! Nothing Anne says is true—she has been unwell for years. I have run Rosings on her behalf because she is too delicate to manage it herself.”
Anne’s voice rang clear and steady. “If I have seemed unwell, it is only because you insisted I was. You fed that lie to everyone—including me. But since Mr. Collins returned with his wife, and Mrs. Collins shared with me the story of Darcy’s courtship, I began to reconsider.
I started taking daily walks to rebuild my strength.
Mrs. Collins has brought me food to nourish me instead of whatever bland fare you insisted was proper for my ‘condition.’ And do you know what I have discovered? I am not weak. I never was.”
She stepped forward, her spine straight and eyes blazing.
“With proper care and exercise, I can oversee Rosings—and I intend to do just that. I even have ideas for improvements. You, on the other hand, have drained the estate’s income for years with your excessive spending on tasteless ornamentation.
You have turned Rosings from a home into a mausoleum. ”
Lady Catherine dropped into a chair behind her. “I have only done what was best for you, Anne. You are not strong enough.”
“Then I will hire those who can help,” Anne snapped, clearly having had enough.