Page 10 of Raised at Rosings (Elizabeth and Darcy True Love Multiverse #4)

Chapter Nine

Three years later

Elizabeth’s arm slipped around Anne’s frail shoulders, lending her support as they went up the stairs. Behind them, Lady Catherine continued to natter on, but Elizabeth ignored her. She was more concerned with the state of her friend’s health than with whatever Lady Catherine was upset about this time.

The further they made it up the stairs, the more muffled Lady Catherine’s voice became, and Anne seemed to relax. Elizabeth was thankful that Lady Catherine was not one to chase after anyone. She was a lady, after all, and there were some things that ladies just did not do. It was one of the few good things about Lady Catherine’s ever-increasing delusions of grandeur.

Making it to the top of the stairs, Elizabeth judged it safe enough to say, “Did she really think we would just sit there and listen to her complaints when you so obviously need to be tucked into bed?”

“You know, Mother is not logical.” Gasping, Anne wheezed before adding, “Nor does she care for my comfort or well-being.”

There was nothing Elizabeth could say to refute that. It was true. Choosing not to leave the comment be, she escorted Anne to her room, helping her change and tucking her in. Elizabeth took up a glass and filled it with water from the nearby pitcher before saying, “This is the first time in years that Lady Catherine has wanted to come here. While I am happy that we are in London for you to consult with a specialist about your health, I have the feeling that Lady Catherine is up to something. I dislike not knowing what she is about.”

Taking a sip of the water, Anne licked her always dry lips and said, “Do not forget that you must see father’s solicitor while you are here, and I know you are always delighted to see Jane.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I am always eager to see Jane and I have not seen her in over a year. She recently wrote, describing a Mr. Bingley, a young man who’s come calling, and frankly, I’m eager to hear more about him. I will have to send a note around to the Matlock town house to see when she is available.” She did not say that she wondered if Lady Catherine would allow her the freedom to visit her sister without pitching a fit of epic proportions. The last several years had shown her just how cruel Lady Catherine could be. It had taken all that Elizabeth had to make sure that the staff and tenants had not run screaming from the Rosings.

The worst had been earlier that year, when Lady Catherine had said that she wanted Elizabeth to marry her rector. Elizabeth knew that almost any other woman in her position would say yes. He was a man of great standing in the community, his large home a testament to Lady Catherine’s favor, filled with servants bustling about, yet his true nature was vile, and he was more than twice her age. She adamantly refused Lady Catherine’s proposal.

For a moment there, Elizabeth had wondered if she had tipped her hand too far. She stood her ground, refusing to be bullied by Lady Catherine, reminding her that she was now under the Earl of Matlock’s care, and he would never approve of such a match. Thankfully, Lady Catherine had merely cursed her brother, assuming that he had been the one to tell her such things during one of her visits to her sister, never imagining that Elizabeth had been in contact with Uncle Lewis’s solicitor since his death.

In escaping the match, Elizabeth had seen a whole new sort of rancor from Lady Catherine, and Elizabeth feared that giving way to her presumptions for the last several years had only made things worse. And yet Elizabeth could not make life harder for Anne. Anne’s life was already so bleak, with poor health and only Elizabeth for a friend, that Elizabeth dared not upset the status quo with Lady Catherine and make things more miserable for her.

Though somewhere deep inside, Elizabeth feared everything was about to come to a head. Lady Catherine had been too quiet of late. The older woman had a plan and Elizabeth dreaded learning what it might be.

Elizabeth moved to arrange things on the table next to Anne, wanting to make sure she had everything she might need. Smiling at her old friend, Elizabeth made sure to keep her face clear of anything that might worry Anne. Anne simply did not have the strength for anything, not after spending the day traveling. Leaning over with a gentle touch, she smoothed the pillows behind Anne, making sure they were positioned just right to help her breathe.

“Do not worry about anything for now.” Distressed by Anne’s state, Elizabeth fidgeted with the bedside items. It took a few moments to get herself back under control so that she could say, “Just rest. I will take some time to write a few notes to let people know we are in town.”

“Lizzie, I know you are worried for me, but please do not be. I am not afraid of dying. In fact, at this point, I almost yearn for it.” Anne watched Elizabeth from where she lay, her gaze strong even if she was not.

Sitting heavily on the chair bedside the bed, Elizabeth cried, “You may not fear it, but I dread it, Anne. I know that's selfish of me to say, but I have grown closer to you than anyone else, and losing you would leave me utterly alone. If you are gone, who will I burden with the math that I do not want to do, and who will share a laugh with me about my latest novel's ridiculous plot?”

A weak chuckle escaped Anne’s lips before she said, “You are perfectly capable when it comes to math, you just choose not to do it because you enjoy other things more.” Shaking her head on the pillow she continued, “I know you worry that you will be alone when I pass but you have other people who are there for you. You just have to let them in. You have Jane and Richard, Aunt and Uncle Matlock, and a certain gentleman who visits every year and reads your letters to his sister. Learn to depend on them. I have every confidence that you will lead a happy life once I am gone.”

Standing from the chair, Elizabeth mock glared at Anne. “You have to stop teasing me about him. You know we are nothing more than good friends. Regardless, I will strive to draw closer to everyone and rely on them for support.” Watching Anne yawn, she added, “You need to get some sleep.”

Sighing drowsily, Anne nodded and closed her eyes. “Can you make sure Richard comes? I need to speak with him.”

Elizabeth's touch was soft and soothing on Anne’s brow as she murmured, “Of course. You know he comes to see you whenever he can. He would be at your beck and call if you let him.” A small little chuckle escaped Anne’s lips before she drifted off to sleep.

Elizabeth slipped out of the room, leaving behind only the sound of Anne’s labored breathing. The thought of Anne’s impending demise hung over Elizabeth like a shroud, a cold truth that she couldn’t escape. The urge to hold Anne close and shield her from what was coming was strong, but Elizabeth realized that true kindness lay in letting her go, however painful it might be for Elizabeth.

Darcy sank into his wingback chair by the fire, the flames dancing and licking at the logs, offering no comfort to the bone-deep weariness that had settled in his body. Fingers digging into his hair, he massaged, trying to dull the pounding in his skull. It did not help that his mind was still dwelling on the horrible night. The air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of perfume, battling a sour undercurrent of sweat, all punctuated by the endless stream of gossipy whispers and the high-pitched tittering. Darcy found himself dodging the persistent advances of three debutantes and a sly young widow. He was not even certain they all pursued him with marriage in mind. Being seen as an eligible bachelor struck him as similar to a top stallion at Tattersall's: a valued asset, up for auction whether he liked it or not. The night had resulted in a throbbing headache.

Sighing, Darcy dropped his hands and stared into the fire. There would be no escape. He was destined to be trapped in a routine of ritualistic duty that brought no light or warmth to his life. That was all there was to it.

Darcy did not mind duty in itself. He was perfectly happy to fulfill his duties back at Pemberley, but here in London, things were different. He was expected to attend social gatherings of people who had no interest in him as a person. The opera, a haven for most, was a battlefield for him, a place where he was bombarded by gentlemen, each seeking to exploit his wealth or palm off their unmarried daughters and sisters. Darcy missed being able to enjoy the opera.

The balls were the worst, with the crowded rooms and endless introductions that left him feeling suffocated, even with Richard and Bingley there to offer some relief. That evening had been the worst of the worst. Caroline Bingley had somehow obtained an invitation, and she tried to cling to his side for the entirety. The knowing looks and whispered remarks were like needles pricking at Darcy, making him uncomfortable and self-conscious.

It took a moment to realize that his valet, Perry, was holding a glass with his headache powders. Accepting the unasked-for gift, Darcy downed it, enduring the bitter taste with a grimace and a murmured thanks to Perry. Always efficient, Perry knelt before Darcy and deftly removed his boots, a task that was impossible for Darcy to do on his own with the latest fashion. Which was just another reason for him to resent society and all its trappings.

Darcy managed a smile. “You always seem to know just what I need, Perry.”

“That is my job, sir,” answered Perry.

Darcy’s smile grew as he thought of how genuine Perry was. He had known Perry long enough that he often went beyond the bounds of duty to see to the needs of those around him. Perry always took on a paternal role with the staff wherever he went, even going so far as to act as a father figure to Darcy, despite being his valet. Looking him straight in the eye, Darcy said, “I appreciate it, nonetheless. It is a comfort to know that there are people in my life who I can count on to look out for me.”

Perry’s eyes widened at Darcy’s words, and he looked away for a moment before saying, “Thank you, sir. It has always been a pleasure to see to your needs.” Then, with a curt nod, Perry left his master for the night.

Left alone in the firelight, Darcy knew he should finish disrobing and go to bed, but his mind was too tumultuous to contemplate doing so. He did not know how much more he could put up with. It was not even just that he only wanted to be free from the hangers on. Darcy was lonely and he could only see it getting worse.

That evening, Bingley, while there physically, had spent most of his time mooning after Richard’s adoptive sister Jane. Richard found endless amusement in teasing their mutual friend about this fact, though Darcy perceived a hint of brotherly concern beneath his playful teasing. Richard was highly protective of the woman in his life. That had not changed since he had been taken to task by his cousin all those years ago.

Darcy knew that soon enough Bingley would be married, possibly to Jane or some other woman of beauty and kindness. Richard would surely follow suit. He was the son of an earl with a cheerful disposition and the prospect of an estate on the horizon. Where did that leave Darcy?

It wasn’t that he wanted to remain single, in fact, he yearned for companionship. A helpmate would be a tremendous boon to him, but the women he encountered, with their laughter, their chatter, and their empty-headed gossip, all failed to move him. Unless you counted his desire to move away from them.

The vastness of Pemberley, with its many tenants and numerous servants, demanded a wife’s guidance and attention, leaving Darcy feeling the weight of his responsibilities without one. The problem was that he knew he could not just choose anyone. While most young ladies he met, despite being pleasant, lacked empathy for those of different social classes, Darcy longed for someone who would extend compassion and kindness to all. Darcy had seen the people of Pemberley suffer under the cold dismissiveness of his father and he would not see it happen again in his lifetime.

Was it even possible for him to find the sort of woman he needed among the daughters of the ton? And what of what he desired for himself? Was it wrong of him to want someone he could talk to? More than once he had heard the lecture that romance and love were too plebeian for a man of his rank to consider important. Did the fact that he was born of a higher class mean that he did not have the right to care deeply for someone and be cared for in return?

There was love in the world. He had observed glimpses of love in his aunt and uncle, who were known as a rarity among the ton. He had seen it in some of the tenant families, a bond of love so deep that even death would not diminish it. Was it wrong to want something so pure? Life had blessed him with wealth, sprawling estates, robust health, and a loving family, providing him with every luxury and contentment that most men could only dream of. Could he want more?

Darcy was developing a deep-seated fear that he was destined to spend his life alone, searching for a love that he might never find. He knew he must marry to carry on his line, and there were many women who would marry him without a second thought. Could he abandon his hopes for a future he’d envisioned for years, just to find someone he could tolerate, even if it meant settling for less than genuine happiness? Or was there someone out there waiting for him to find her?

Elizabeth let out a sigh as she settled into the chair next to her bed. As tired as she was, she did not feel ready to sleep. There was a restless energy keeping Elizabeth from relaxing enough to even attempt to sleep. She couldn’t articulate it, but a sense of impending doom hung in the air, a cold premonition of something terrible and it was Lady Catherine’s fault.

There was no way of knowing what Lady Catherine was up to, but her secretive smiles and cheerful demeanor hinted at something. But what? Elizabeth had enough experience with the woman to know she was never happy about anything unless it greatly benefited her or harmed another person. No, there was no escaping the fact that she was up to something. Only Elizabeth could not yet fathom what it could be, which was eminently frustrating and possibly dangerous.

So instead of tossing and turning, Elizabeth got out her collection of letters that she kept wrapped up with an old, frayed ribbon and began to reread them. Hopefully, by reading them over, she could at least cheer herself up a bit. Most of the stack was made up of letters from Jane, but a significant number were from Georgianna.

The scent of the older letters was one of aged paper and ink, but the newer letters from Jane smelled distinctly of her perfume—a light, sweet blend of lavender and honeysuckle. Bringing the most recent letter to her nose, Elizabeth inhaled deeply. It was almost as if her sister was there with her.

The letter itself was full of the joys that Jane found in life. She’d been on a quest in London, seeking the perfect hat for her new walking dress. There was also a section that went in depth about the last dance she had attended where, of course, she had danced with her mysterious Mr. Bingley. While Jane remained silent about her affections, the frequency with which she mentioned the gentleman in her letters to Elizabeth hinted at a deeper connection. At least being in London would offer Elizabeth the opportunity to see Jane and speak with her about her feelings for the man. There was even a possibility that she would be able to meet Mr. Bingley himself.

Running her finger over the swift lines of Jane’s penmanship, Elizabeth read the lines where Jane expressed her most pressing concern.

… dear girl, I worry about you more and more every day. Richard tells me no lies, so I know that your situation with Lady Catherine only grows worse. I fear that one day you will come to some harm that you cannot fluff off or excuse.

I would beg you to come live with the Matlocks once more if I did not know how much you are attached to Anne. While your dedication to others is admirable, you must prioritize your own needs more. It is not wrong for you to do what you have to protect yourself. Your well-being is paramount to my happiness, so please, if you must think of me, know that I want…no, I need you safe and sound and most of all, happy.

While I will not press you to come, I will remind you that you have a home here waiting for you. You know Mother and Father Matlock would more than welcome you here with me. They have long regretted prioritizing societal expectations over their own parental instincts, a decision that haunts them as they remember only taking me when we were children.

#

With a sigh, Elizabeth let the letter fall onto her lap and gazed at the low ceiling, noticing a faint crack in the plaster. How would her life have been different if she had stayed with Jane and gone to Matlock? She certainly would have had a season by now, but Elizabeth did not have any great interest in having a season anytime soon. At the most, she was ambivalent to the whole process. She was certainly not envious, not after hearing Jane’s detailed account of the awkward curtsy to the queen and the nervous anticipation that preceded it.

If she had lived with the Matlocks, she would be attending balls, not ensuring the tenant’s thatched roofs didn’t leak and poring over agricultural reports to improve crop yields. While she had attended a ball or two, if that was all she did, she would not be the happiest of creatures. There was just something about being useful that she enjoyed, even if her older sister worried she took it too far.

Even with Lady Catherine’s relentless cruelty making life difficult, she wouldn’t trade her current situation for a simpler one. Elizabeth would not for a second give up her life with Anne and Uncle Lewis. A bond of unwavering affection bound them together, a love she couldn’t bear to lose, even should she be forced to lose them both in death.

Her experiences with the people who became her family had shaped her into the person she was, and honestly, she loved who she had become. The ability to ease people’s burdens brought Elizabeth joy. She had learned to manage a household and handle a budget, learned much more than any typical young lady would. She was capable of so much more than buying lace and dispensing gossip that was typical of ladies her age in the ton.

Elizabeth had developed a capacity to immerse herself in classic texts in their original tongues and even debate them with other knowledgeable minds. She enjoyed the debates, especially if they were with Mr. Darcy, though to be fair, she did not get many opportunities to debate with other people. Richard did not have the patience for it, though he did read he did not find it worth his time or energy to debate what he read. Anne lacked the energy, and Lady Catherine was too self-absorbed to engage in true conversation, favoring long-winded pronouncements instead. So that left Mr. Darcy as the only person Elizabeth could debate with.

At times, Elizabeth wondered if Uncle Reggie would have been liberal enough to encourage her to expand her mind the way Uncle Lewis had. While Uncle Reggie was kind, and she was sure he loved her like family, he was certainly more traditional. Uncle Lewis had even gone so far as to teach her to play chess, which Elizabeth knew Uncle Reggie felt odd about. Chess was just another thing that she would not give up on just have Lady Catherine out of her life. The memory of beating Mr. Darcy at chess and seeing his genuine delight in her victory still brought a smile to her face.

Finally feeling drowsy, Elizabeth gathered the letters, her fingers lingering on the faded ribbon before lovingly tying them up and putting them away in a chest that smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. While she might join Jane at the Matlock’s home once she lost Anne, Elizabeth was more than satisfied with her choices thus far. She would face whatever Lady Catherine was up to without regret. If Lady Catherine was the consequence she had to accept to have the people she loved in her life, so be it. She would not back down. If she had learned anything about herself, it was that she was a force to be reckoned with, not some delicate flower. For all her pomposity, Lady Catherine would be the one to regret whatever would happen next.