Expectations: The Transformation of Miss Anne de Bourgh (Pride and Prejudice Continued), Volume 1
Page 7
Chapter Five
Anne stayed in her room until supper. Mrs. Jenkinson tried several times to have her come downstairs and enjoy the pale sunlight in the south-facing sitting room, but she refused. She was fine, she explained, she merely needed some quiet time to think. With deep concern, Mrs. Jenkinson left her alone but promised to return.
Anne knew why she had cried, even though she could not answer the others’ many questions about it. She cried because Monsieur Saint-Vancomy was the first person who had ever told her that he wanted her to be happy. No one had ever spoken those words to her before. Of course, people wished her well, especially her mother, who did everything in her power to make Anne happy. But no one had ever said it.
How had Anne become so removed from the world that people did not talk to her as they did to others? Everyone spoke to her with care, with guarded words, or with cautioning glances as Emily had done to her sister yesterday. No one talked to her openly, freely. No one spoke the truth. Anne felt hollow, like a pitcher or vase on the shelf. She was not a real person, just some mantel ornament. Was she so unworthy of attention? Had she shrunk away from others so much that they did not think of her as a person? Everyone she knew seemed to accept her as she was, an incomplete imitation of a human. No one wished her happiness. Perhaps no one thought she could be happy.
Anne spent the afternoon looking at her life. She had done nothing. Everything had been done for her, or to her, from her engagement to her future inheritance to her broken betrothal. She received things both good and bad in life, but she had never taken any action of consequence. She did not choose her friends, she did not decide who would come to visit Rosings. She never selected what would be served at meals; even when her mother was away, Lady Catherine planned out all the menus in advance. The most Anne ever did was decide to drive her phaeton on some days and not on others, but even then the weather dictated her actions. Most of the time she did not even choose what she wore. Her mother told her what would be appropriate for the day or the company. She was passive, inert. The very thought of living another day like this sickened her. It was almost as if she did not exist.
By the time Anne descended to dinner, she had made several decisions. Despite Mrs. Jenkinson’s well-meant objections, Anne would continue to attend the dancing lessons at Fairfax House. She would talk with Madame Saint-Vancomy about music lessons. Anne felt that she could sing. When someone played music and she thought no one could hear her, Anne would hum quietly to herself, and to her own ear she was in tune. But she had never tried to sing in front of anyone else. With Madame’s help, she would find out if she could. If she had no singing voice, she would try musical lessons on an instrument. Her cousin Georgiana Darcy played both the pianoforte and the harp. Perhaps she would try both.
Her main resolution was simple but profound: For the first time in her life, she would try.