by J Dawn King
Anne unexpectedly fell asleep almost as soon as she had finished speaking, leaving the rest of the passengers flummoxed.
“I will not.” Darcy spoke into the silence, broken by the jangle of harnesses, the clopping of hooves, and the sounds the carriage wheels made on the road.
“You will not what, cousin?” Richard had not taken his eyes off Anne since she had arrived, wary, as if afraid she would wake again with more demanding proclamations.
Elizabeth wondered at the windstorm which had swept into their moment. She would not have thought this of Miss de Bourgh, and apparently her cousins had not as well. Darcy had donned the mask he wore when he needed a stern countenance. She recognized it for what it was now. He had made a decision he knew would not be favoured by his cousin. He was protecting his heart from Anne’s displeasure. The colonel had a puzzled look on his face threatening to be permanently affixed as his eyes roved from Anne’s head to her toes and back, as if trying to ascertain if it truly was her.
“I will not squire her around town and have her seen on my arm.” Darcy looked across the carriage and caught Elizabeth’s eye. She refused to look away. “I will have no person speculate on my relationship with Anne. She is my cousin. No more, no less. As I would not give in to the mother, I absolutely will not to the daughter.”
Elizabeth blinked and her eyes closed in relief. She wished Anne had postponed her arrival until matters could have been set straight between them. Nevertheless, wishing did nothing, and she sought a means of giving the poor man relief.
“William.” It was boldly said with the colonel and Darcy’s valet attending the conversation. She had not addressed him so casually in front of others before. “Though I am changing the subject to an earlier conversation, I hope you will listen to me.”
As soon as she had called him by name, his entire focus swiveled directly to her. So did the other men, but she gave them no heed.
“I will.”
His gaze immediately went from flinty, to soft and tender. In spite of the manner they had dealt with each other outside the inn, it eased her mind and enabled her to frame her words to be less confrontational.
“Which of all the volumes in Pemberley’s library is your favourite?”
She could tell her question had caught him by surprise. He tilted his head and raised his shoulders slightly. She waited for his answer, allowing him to ponder his response.
Finally, he spoke. “Our family copy of the 1611 King James Bible is likely our most valuable publication. The interior illustrations are stunning and its provenance is beyond question.” He seemed to peer closer as if he hoped to gain access to the method and motive of her questioning. “However, my favourite is a small book of poetry my father gave me days before he died. I had not known of its existence until then. Inside are poems, sonnets, verses, and a narrative he had written to my mother during the years they were married. He included drawings in the margins of places and events and little snippets of words which undoubtedly meant much to them. I will keep it always and hope to provide the same for my wife.”
She sighed. This man! Oh, what was she to do with such a man!
“I thank you for sharing something so precious to you. I understand why you hold it in such esteem.” She paused and watched him lean closer to her. She could not keep a small smile from softening her face. “If you needed to quickly return your father’s book to the shelf, would you push and prod and force it back into its place, or would you take the time and trouble to see to the comfort and condition of the book instead?”
“I would never risk damage by treating it roughly.” She noted the instant her point had been made. “I should not have demanded. I should have asked.”
Her smile grew and, in response, his mouth moved into the same position. She felt his consolation from across the carriage.
“I love you, Elizabeth.”
“And, I…”
Miss de Bourgh groaned, coughed loudly, clutched her middle, opened her eyes, and emptied her stomach over the three sets of polished boots on the floor across from her. Elizabeth scrambled to pull her feet up to the seat beside her to protect herself from the mess. The men were much less fortunate. Darcy opened the windows on his side as his valet did the same.
“Oh, Lord. She never has been a good traveler, even on a pony cart around Rosings,” Colonel Fitzwilliam barked into the melee. He had undoubtedly seen and smelled much worse during his years in battle. Darcy’s valet rolled his eyes to the ceiling and immediately produced a damp cloth from out of nowhere to help his charge’s cousin. Darcy pounded on the ceiling to bring the carriage to a sudden halt.
They were fortunate in the presence of a rapidly flowing stream not far from the travelers’ path. While Darcy and the colonel retrieved bucket after bucket of clear liquid so Parker and the footmen could clean up the mess, Elizabeth had escorted Anne into the trees to attempt restoration to the woman.
“Do you blame me?” The question was unexpected, and Elizabeth wondered to which of the many debacles caused by her impulsive decisions she referred to.
“For which event, Miss de Bourgh? For leaving your home and stowing away? For confiscating Mr. Darcy’s carriage for your own use? For expecting your cousins to set aside their responsibilities to tend to you and fulfil your desires? For…apparently eating a large amount of whatever this is and not warning your fellow passengers that you do not travel well?” Elizabeth continued to rinse the soiled skirt of Anne’s dress, while the other woman reclined on a blanket provided by one of the men.
“My slippers are not clean.” It was a demanding statement laced with expectation.
Elizabeth kept her voice calm, stating blandly, “I am not your servant to do as you bid. Should you want to be waited upon, you shall have to return to Rosings and your mother’s staff.”
She was not angry, nor was she particularly frustrated. Anne appeared a petulant child. A spoiled, indulged child.
“Then how are they to be cared for?” This time the question was sincere. Miss de Bourgh truly had no clue.
“Is your stomach settled?”
“It is. Once it empties, relief soon follows.”
“I am glad of this.” Elizabeth pointed to where the offensive footwear was placed next to the blanket. “For someone will need to rinse them in the water and they will need the fabric squeezed of the excess liquid before they are set in the sun to dry.”
“I am certain you will not mind.” Anne had not the grace to look ashamed or embarrassed by her assertion.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Trust me. I mind.” She stood from where she had been bent over the edge of the brook. “In fact, I mind so much that I am going to return to the men to see if I can offer assistance to them. Mr. Darcy’s poor valet has tied a line between two trees to hang the towels and garments to rid them of their dampness and smell. The pillows have been washed and placed in a pile to discard. I pity the poor itinerant traveler who thinks he’s found a prize.” With that said, she walked the short distance to where Darcy and the colonel stood in deep discussion. Miss de Bourgh scrambled to her feet and followed, walking as daintily as possible on her stocking feet.
“I want to go home. This has not been anywhere near as fun as I had imagined it would be. Take me back to Rosings, Darcy. Take me now.”
Anne de Bourgh’s voice had gone from a plea to a whine to a demand, grating on each of their nerves.
“Annie, you cannot possibly mean that.” The colonel stated. “You are finally free from your mother’s influence. Your sentiments have been clearly expressed. It is as you wished. You have freedom, girl.”
The eldest person in the grouping stomped her feet and pounded her fist in her palm. She growled her frustration as tears began streaming from her eyes.
“I do not know what I want.” Anne’s shoulders drooped and she suddenly looked pitiable.
Darcy caught her attention. “However, I do know what I want, Anne, and I know what I will and will not do. I will not return to R
osings, not even for you. Your mother evicted Elizabeth from the home of her friends and family, and I will not give Lady Catherine the satisfaction of seeing me return. Any injury done to Elizabeth is done to me.” Darcy’s voice was firm. “We can return to the inn where I will hire a cart and find a woman to travel with you to your home. I leave it in your hands. You will have to decide.”
He looked to the colonel, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
Stepping forward to stand next to the other woman, Elizabeth took her hand. Anne de Bourgh reminded her of her youngest sister, Lydia. Just as Anne longed for freedom to make her own choices, Lydia yearned for a husband and a home of her own. Though there was a decade and a half’s difference between their ages, they were similar in being impulsive and in not thinking of the consequences of following their desires.
“If you go back to your home, what will happen to your dreams?”
“They will die. I slowly will do so as well.”
“Then you cannot return, can you?”
“No.” Anne hung her head and spoke to the ground.
“If you go with your cousins to London, are you willing to expend yourself to see to your goals?”
“I do not know.” Shrugging her shoulders, Miss de Bourgh finally looked up at Elizabeth.
Darcy cleared his throat and moved to Elizabeth’s side. “I have a question for you, and I beg you consider your answer carefully, for it is most important.” Darcy softened his voice. “Anne, what do you believe will make you happy, bring you joy, and help you feel contented in your heart?”
“I do not know.” She looked back to Elizabeth as she answered.
“Then how do you know freedom is the answer for you?” Elizabeth turned towards the confused woman, facing her directly. “Do you believe Colonel Fitzwilliam has freedom?”
“For a certainty. He is a man. He can do what he pleases.” Her answer had been immediate.
“Is that true? Would his general agree that a colonel could do as he pleases? What about his father? Would your uncle agree with your opinion?”
The colonel scoffed, capturing the attention of the ladies. He stood with his arms crossed and a smirk on his mouth. “I have few freedoms, Anne.”
Elizabeth continued speaking to the woman in front of her. “And what of Mr. Darcy? As the owner of a large estate, is he answerable to no one?”
“Yes.” At this, her tone became slightly belligerent.
“Not at all.” Darcy spoke kindly, though firmly. “More than most, I am answerable to each and every tenant who lives under my care. I am constrained by laws, demands, requirements, merchants, businessmen, the weather, and even the tides of the sea. Everything left to me by my father, who passed it down from generations before him, has determined my past, my immediate plans, and my future. I cannot travel as I would like, I cannot spend my time in selfish pursuits, and if I were to listen to my relatives and peers, I would not be able to marry whom I want. Very little freedom is involved when you are a landowner.”
“Then when I reach thirty years and inherit Rosings, I will be no different from you.” Her tone was now rife with bitterness.
Without saying a word, Darcy nodded his head, lifting his left brow as he caught his cousin’s eye.
“Then where do you find your joy, Fitzwilliam? Where do you find the reason for your existence?”
Darcy took Anne’s other hand, placing him and Elizabeth side-by-side in a tight circle.
“Many large and small things about my life delight me, cousin. Nature inspires me to be the best steward of the land I can be. My friends imbue me with good company and pleasant times. My home soothes me with the strong sense of family echoing through each room and down the hallways. These family relationships and responsibilities make me want to become a better man.” Now it was his turn to squeeze Elizabeth’s fingers. “Anne, my overwhelming love for a wonderful woman leads me to plan for each day ahead of me with the anticipation of spending every moment possible in her company as we fill our nursery and our home with love.”
He looked directly at Elizabeth, and she felt an immediate weakness at the back of her knees. “I dream of teaching my sons to love the land and their home, watching them grow into manhood as responsible, learned men so they will attract a woman like their mother who will fill their lives with the same joy I am confident my children will witness daily.”
“And you have found such a woman?” Miss de Bourgh’s eyes finally looked to her youngest cousin present. When she saw where his eyes were focused, she nodded her head.
Darcy smiled fully until his dimples were deep hollows on each cheek. “I have.”
Miss de Bourgh took in a deep shuddering breath, letting it out slowly.
“Then I shall accept your offer to provide my return to Rosings.”
“What?” All three voices chimed in together.
For the first time since the carriage was made to stop, Miss de Bourgh’s voice was firm and her countenance unmovable. “I have much to consider. None of this had ever occurred to me. The remaining eleven months until I inherit needs to be spent in contemplation of what it is I truly want and what I should expect. I can see now that my ideas and plans were unrealistic. I am not proud of what has happened here today.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam moved alongside Darcy. Elizabeth glanced over in time to see a new respect for his female cousin flash across his expression. Darcy’s as well.
With the decision made, they turned the carriage to make their way slowly back to the inn. By the time a woman was found to accompany Miss de Bourgh to Rosings, dusk had fallen. A room and a companion was procured for Elizabeth. They would be going nowhere until the next morning.
My most magnificent Elizabeth,
Your actions and attitude today proved to me that I am a man of sense and discernment. Oh, do not laugh or mock me for my arrogance. My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek as I place pen to paper. I wonder, will you read this readily when it is received? Will you hesitate and wonder at its contents before breaking the seal to unfold the pages? Will you tuck it away in your pocket as you did all three of my prior letters to you, with a promise to yourself not to take a peek? I anxiously anticipate finding out.
When I told you I loved you in the carriage, you began to reply. With the unpleasant interruption, I am left filled with curiosity at what you might have said. Did you start to tell me you admired me? I cannot imagine you doing so on this day. You adore me? Ha! I cannot imagine those words bursting from your lips however much I want to hear them in the future. Did you begin to say the three words my heart yearns to hear more than all others? I cannot tease about this, Elizabeth. I love you dearly and am unshaken in my belief that I always will.
I sit at this uncomfortable desk in a chair much too short for my stature and think upon the events of the day. Would you believe me if I told you my life, until I met you, was one of boredom and toil? It is the truth. What you have done to me, my heart.
Richard and I discussed the war with France this evening after you went to your room, which, by-the-by is only one door down from mine. Thin wooden panels separate you from me, and I find I resent that timber with every fibre of my being. Without embarrassment, I will now admit that I have stood by the barrier with my ear pressed to the wood in hopes of hearing your sweet whispers of affection towards me. If I had a better means of eavesdropping, would I have heard you speak so?
My cousin impressed upon me the importance of an effective offensive in a battle if you want to win the war, or the prize. You, my Elizabeth, will be my crowning achievement if I can convince you to become my wife. I am writing this as a warning to expect me, a man who prides himself on being honourable, to not play fair. I will tell you ‘I love you’ with no care who hears. I will demonstrate my tender affections and respect with no concern over whether or not I look foolish in the eyes of others. For I am determined, my dear woman, to do whatever I must, to sacrifice anything required, to become the man you claim as husband.
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br /> To the victor belongs the spoils, Elizabeth Bennet, and I will prevail. I am and will always be yours with the greatest of devotion,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
The maid entered with a bowl of thick beef and vegetable stew with some rustic bread torn from a loaf. Delicious smells filled Elizabeth’s nostrils as she was drawn to the table where the tray had been set. Next to the pottery vessel was folded parchment placed below a single daffodil in a bud vase. Darcy!
Waiting until the woman’s back was turned as she tended the low fire, Elizabeth clasped the letter to her chest and then slid it down to her front pocket. She would wait to read the letter in private. Would the maid ever hurry?
Vowing to regain control, she decided to eat four bites of the ragout before breaking open the letter—chewing slowly as was proper. The small piece of meat felt like it was growing and expanding until she thought she would have to spit it into the fire where it would roast its presence away. And this, only the first spoonful. She refused to give in to her impulse and ignore the provided meal so she could give full attention to the letter—at least not in front of the maid.
Finally, the servant vacated the room and Elizabeth was alone. Taking a sip of the ale provided, she slipped her hand into the fabric pouch alongside the paper and wrapped her slim fingers around the middle. Lifting it slightly, she realised it was as thick as the others and smiled. Mr. Darcy was a creature of habit and, in this instance, she was grateful.
Drawing the candlelight closer, she quit teasing herself, pushing the remnants of the meal aside. There was no doubt in her mind that the most important activity she could perform, her greatest priority, was reading every single word written upon each page. Sliding her knife under the seal, she read the back.
…yours with the greatest of devotion,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
She sighed. Leaning her head back on the chair, she closed her eyes. The greatest of devotion. Her mind went blank as she meditated on its meaning. Completely, starkly black. It was too much, this depth of emotions. So strong was his affection that it was disturbing her own thinking and opinions.