Coincidence

by Jann Rowland

“No, we shall not.”

  It was not until after the words left her mouth that Anne realized that they were spoken in her own voice. She was almost startled with herself, but as Lady Catherine turned to pin her with a baleful glare, Anne found that expression, which had always cowed her in the past, provoked some deep-seated well of disgust for the woman who had dominated her all her life.

  “What did you say?” Her mother’s voice was low and dangerous, but for once Anne did not care. She would not be at the mercy of this harpy any longer.

  “I said that no one would be going anywhere with you, mother,” said Anne, her tone calmer than she felt. “Your fantasy is at an end. Darcy and I have no wish to marry each other.”

  “I did not ask what you wished!” said Lady Catherine. “I meant to be obeyed.”

  “Not as long as I draw breath.”

  Surprise warred with another emotion Anne could not quite name on her mother’s face. Other than the earl, Anne did not think that her mother had ever been spoken to in such a manner before.

  “You have dictated to us all ever since I was old enough to understand,” said Anne. “Now you will listen to me. Darcy and I will not marry. We do not wish it. Darcy is well on the way to an understanding with Miss Elizabeth, and I do not think he could find a better wife. For myself, I find that should Anthony decide I am a worthy companion, I will accept an offer of marriage from him. There is nothing for you here, mother. You should depart.”

  “Annie, Annie,” said Fitzwilliam. He caught her hand up and kissed it, holding it as if it were a precious heirloom. “It is not a matter of whether you are worthy. You have as much worth as the purest of rubies.”

  “Of course, she does,” snapped Lady Catherine. “But it is you who are not worthy of her.” Lady Catherine jabbed her cane at Anthony with each word. “Do you think I would allow her to marry a penniless soldier? I care not that you are my brother’s son. She was meant for Darcy, and it is Darcy she will have.”

  “Oh, Mother, do you not hear how ridiculous you sound?” asked Anne, exasperated with the woman. “You cannot force others to act as you will. We all have the freedom to live as we will, to follow our own desires and dreams.

  “Do you wish to have a permanent rift in the family? Do you wish to be forever shunned by us all, despised as a virago whom no one wishes to see? Can you not understand that you are on that path even now? If I wed Anthony, we will not have you in the house, making our lives miserable. You will be banished to the dower house and left there with no one to order about.”

  Anthony grinned evilly. “I promise you, Anne, should you wish it, I will throw your mother over my shoulder the minute we return there and deposit her in her new home myself.”

  “I have never been so insulted!” screeched Lady Catherine with a gasp.

  “Perhaps, but it is only fair, given how you insult everyone you meet,” retorted Anne.

  Eyes wide and countenance turning milky white, Lady Catherine looked on her with shock. “You have never been a mother to me. You have directed and demanded, but never once have I received the slightest hint of the love of a mother from you. Well, no more. From this day forward, I will not acknowledge you as my mother.”

  Shock and disbelief flowed across Lady Catherine’s face. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but nothing came out. Anne did not wish to face the woman any longer, so she turned her back.

  “It is now time for you to leave,” growled Darcy.

  He and Anthony stepped forward and put themselves in front of the woman, their postures and clenched fists screaming menace.

  “It is your choice,” added Anthony. “You can either leave yourself, or Darcy and I will remove you, kicking and screaming, if necessary.”

  One last burst of the imperious lady made itself known. “You are all willful and disobedient!” spat the bitter woman. “Our family could have been one of the most powerful in the kingdom, and yet you have thrown it away for your own petty desires. I wish you all the misery in the world on your chosen paths.”

  And then the lady spun on her heel and stalked from the room, the sound of her boots beating counterpoint to the clatter of her cane on the floor. For several moments, no one moved or said a word.

  “I will send for tea,” said Georgiana. “After that, I believe we all need one.”

  The sound of her voice seemed to break the spell which had held them in place, and Anne’s courage fell away from her, leaving nothing but a bone weariness. She sagged, held up by Anthony’s arms, which suddenly clutched her shoulders. He guided her to a nearby sofa and sat her down, taking a knee beside her and holding one hand in between his own.

  “Are you well, Annie?” asked Anthony, worry lacing his tone.

  “I am. I simply never expected to be required to cut my mother from my life.”

  “Then you had more faith in her than I possessed,” replied Anthony. “I knew when we started down on this path that it would almost certainly end that way. She has held onto her dream of a union between Pemberley and Rosings for far too long.”

  Expelling a deep breath, Anne nodded. She regarded him, noting the expression of deep concern with which he scrutinized her, and Anne felt warm all over. Then she giggled.

  “Would you truly throw my mother over your shoulder and remove her from Rosings?”

  “Anything for you,” replied Anthony with a grin.

  “And I would assist,” added Darcy, who stepped close. “You were marvelous, Anne. Though I know it was distasteful to say such things to your mother, they needed to be said. She will bluster and lash out and deny you said them, but in her heart, she knows you meant them.”

  “Have I driven her away forever?”

  Darcy and Anthony shared a look and shrugged. “I cannot tell you, Annie,” said Anthony. “If she loves you enough, she might come around, after she has had time to think it over.”

  “If not?”

  “In that case, she will never forgive you for speaking to her in such a way.” Darcy snorted. “Or at least she will not if you do not recant and indicate your willingness to marry me.”

  Anne shook her head. “I love you as a cousin, Darcy, but I could not have you as a husband. I am certain we would drive each other to distraction before we had finished the wedding trip.”

  Then Anne turned to Elizabeth, who stood nearby, and showed her a mischievous smile. “I wish you luck, Elizabeth. I would not have had any success in pulling my cousin from his moods, but I believe if anyone can, it is you.”

  “Thank you, Anne,” replied Elizabeth. “But before I allow Mr. Darcy to take such a step, I think I will require a great deal more groveling.”

  They all laughed together, and Anne felt some of the tension bleed away from her shoulders and neck. She was still wary of the woman, it was true, but Anne thought the specter of Lady Catherine was finally put behind her. If they were to have any relationship in the future, it was now up to her mother.

  Chapter XXV

  Silly, improper sisters and imperious ladies aside—not to mention the occasional sighting of a libertine—Elizabeth found herself enjoying her time in Brighton more than she had ever thought she would. When it had been decided that they would spend the summer in the city, Elizabeth had thought she would spend the entire time trying—and failing—to rein in her youngest sisters and keep the family’s reputation intact. Since her father had forbidden all but incidental contact with the officers and ensured they could not go out on their own, her life had become much easier. Furthermore, the presence of Mr. Darcy and his family added a new dimension to their interactions.

  The days continued to pass after Lady Catherine was sent away from Brighton, and the company enjoyed themselves with their amusements, and rarely did a day pass in which they were not together. Usually they would alternate dinners between the Fitzwilliam townhouse and the Bennet residence, with occasional dinners at other places. And this was in addition to the walks, sea bathing—in which they indulged two more times—shop
ping, the occasional ride in open carriages, seeing sights outside the city, picnics, dances, and all other manner of pastimes in which young people of the gentry were accustomed to indulging.

  After some time, they found themselves at another assembly, and again Mr. Darcy asked Elizabeth to stand up for the first with him, while the colonel and Anne, and Mr. Bingley and Jane, shared the same sets. On this particular night—the first assembly since their conversation the day of the shopping trip—an event occurred which raised Mr. Darcy in Elizabeth’s esteem all that much more.

  “What is your verdict, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy as they were dancing. “Are you happy that you and your family came to Brighton?”

  Elizabeth could not help but laugh; it was a subject of which she had thought much in the past days. “I believe I am, Mr. Darcy. For if Kent is the garden of England, Brighton must be the rose garden. It is both beautiful and restful, and there are not the crowds of people you find in London. Consequently, the air and the streets are much cleaner.”

  “I am happy to hear it,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I do wonder, however, if the loveliness of the location is the only reason why you are happy you have come.”

  “Well,” replied Elizabeth, making a show of considering the matter with care, “I am happy to have renewed my friendships with your sister and your cousin, Anne, of course. And I am happy that Jane and Mr. Bingley were reunited.”

  “Teasing woman!” exclaimed Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth laughed and danced around him, grasping the hand of another man as she moved through the steps. Though she was not near him for several moments as the dance continued, she watched him as they moved, gratified that Mr. Darcy never looked away from her. She had come to know that he was a good man, and though she could not speak at present, she attempted to convey with nothing more than her expression and eyes how much he was coming to mean to her. Given Mr. Darcy’s own reaction, the softness with which he regarded her, Elizabeth was certain he had received the message clearly.

  When they came together again, Mr. Darcy grasped her hand and led her through the final steps. “I would like you to know, Miss Bennet, that I could not be happier that I decided to try again, after making such a hash of my courting in Kent and London. I am even happier that you are a forgiving woman.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Well, I am not the one who professed to an unforgiving temper.” Mr. Darcy flushed, and Elizabeth laughed again. “I will own, however, that I do not think you are quite so unforgiving as you led me to believe. After all, I did as much to fuel our mutual misunderstandings as you did.”

  “You were propriety itself, Miss Elizabeth.”

  As the music came to an end, Mr. Darcy stretched out his hand, which Elizabeth grasped willingly. They walked to the side of the room where their family had gathered when not dancing, Elizabeth smiling at her companion.

  “Please allow me my share of the blame, sir,” said she. “The fact that we have recovered from it is a testament to us both.”

  “I will agree with your assessment, and endeavor to think of it no more.”

  They spoke for several more moments in between dances, before the music for the next sets began. “If you will excuse me, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “I believe I will find my partner for the next dance.”

  Elizabeth looked at him curiously, wondering at his words. Though Mr. Darcy had changed and was more open with her by the day, he still shunned dancing for the most part, and confined his efforts to Elizabeth, Jane, Anne, and Georgiana. She watched as he walked a short distance away, and then stopping in front of Mary, he bowed and exchanged some words with her. Mary’s shock was evident, but she soon nodded and stood, putting her hand in Mr. Darcy’s as he escorted her to the floor.

  Shocked, Elizabeth watched as they took up their positions in the line, and when the music started, they began to move. And contrary to what Elizabeth would have expected—though with this surprising maneuver, she did not know what she should have thought—Mr. Darcy was not silent. Rather, he engaged Mary in conversation, and though it appeared that two such reticent people experienced some difficulty, they made a valiant attempt at it. Soon they were speaking, though not with ease, and both seemed content with their efforts.

  Watching them, Elizabeth wondered at what had passed between them. She reviewed the entirety of their acquaintance in her mind, and in particular, she looked back during the first days and what had happened to initially put them at odds. It was strange, she decided, that a comment made in what she now know was ill temper and frustration, had caused such a reaction in her. Why, she could not quite work out. It may have been that it struck a nerve, the same one which had been worn out due to years of her mother comparing her beauty with Jane’s. Or could it possibly have been that she had been attracted to him from the beginning, and his apparent rejection had hurt her more than she had thought?

  “Lizzy! Lizzy!”

  The sound of a voice calling her name startled Elizabeth, and all contemplations of Mr. Darcy fled her mind. She turned to see her mother rushing toward her. Mrs. Bennet, never the most sanguine of people, appeared to be quite excited.

  “Lizzy, my dear,” said she as she halted in front of Elizabeth, “can I trust what I am seeing before my very eyes?”

  “I am afraid I do not know to what you are referring, Mama,” said Elizabeth.

  “Oh . . . You!” stammered she, her words less coherent than usual. “You and Mr. Darcy! It has come to my attention that Mr. Darcy seems to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to you. Has he made you an offer?”

  Elizabeth stared at her mother, amused that she had finally seen what was so obvious to everyone else. Though she knew it would disappoint her mother, she answered truthfully to the question.

  “No, Mama, he has not.”

  This time her was her mother’s turn to stare, though her gaze held horror rather than amusement. “He has not?” When Elizabeth confirmed her mother’s question, Mrs. Bennet’s gaze became infinitely more horrified. “He has not made you . . . another offer, has he?”

  “Mama!” exclaimed Elizabeth, shocked her mother could possibly think such a thing. “Is your opinion of me so deficient that you think I would consider such an arrangement?”

  “Of course not!” said Mrs. Bennet. “But Mr. Darcy is a highborn gentleman, accustomed to having his own way. Such gentlemen are known to keep mistresses, and they do not care who they offend. Of you I have no doubt; it is Mr. Darcy I am unsure of.”

  It was all Elizabeth could do to avoid laughing at her mother’s ridiculous suspicions, though she knew that in the case of some men of high standing, it was likely warranted.

  “Mama,” said Elizabeth in a soothing tone, “have you not been in Mr. Darcy’s company long enough to know that he would never do such a thing? And what of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh? Miss de Bourgh calls me by name and calls me friend; can you imagine her reaction if she learned that Mr. Darcy had propositioned me in such a manner?”

  “Well . . .” It was clear her mother had never considered it in the way Elizabeth had stated, and she was unable to speak further. A gleam of suspicion still shone deep in her eyes, however, which Elizabeth immediately moved to extinguish.

  “I will tell you unequivocally, Mama, so there is no misunderstanding. Mr. Darcy has made me no such offer, nor could I ever imagine him doing so, especially when his closest friend is on the verge to making an offer of marriage to my sister. What Mr. Wickham told us about Mr. Darcy is nothing less than a falsehood—in fact, Mr. Darcy is the most honorable man I have ever met. He would never treat me like that.”

  “Well, that is a relief,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Though it is a shame that such a wealthy man has not offered for you, given how much attention he has been paying to you.”

  “He has not offered for me, Mama. But I cannot say how he will act in the future.”

  It was more than Elizabeth should have said to such a determined matchmaker as her mother, but she was afr
aid the woman’s behavior would be positively mortifying if Elizabeth did not act to curb her enthusiasm. The image of mother attempting to explain to Mr. Darcy what a perfect wife Elizabeth would make was too humiliating to contemplate

  Mrs. Bennet understood her meaning immediately. “You think he will?”

  “I am certain I cannot predict Mr. Darcy’s actions,” said Elizabeth. Her mother’s look told her that she was not satisfied, but Elizabeth continued, so as to rein the woman in further. “But you must not attempt to hurry him along, Mama. Mr. Darcy is a man who knows his own mind, and he does not take kindly to those who interfere. There is nothing you can do to prompt him to take action, so it is best that you simply allow him to come to the point in his own time.”

  Though unconvinced, as Elizabeth could see, her mother nodded her head slowly. “Very well. But you must inform me the minute anything happens. He is quite the wealthiest man any of us have ever seen, and if there is any chance of securing him, we simply must ensure he proposes to you.”

  Stepping forward, Mrs. Bennet engaged in rearranging Elizabeth’s dress and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the fabric, all the while she continued to prattle on. “Though I have never completely understood you, Lizzy, it has become clear to me that you are, by far, the cleverest of my daughters. I know that if there is a way for you to secure Mr. Darcy, you shall do so, and I wish you the best of luck. Jane marrying Mr. Bingley would save our family, but he would be nothing next to Mr. Darcy. You would be showered with jewels and carriages, and I do not doubt through you, all your sisters would be introduced to the highest of society.”

  Elizabeth bore Mrs. Bennet’s fussing with patience, and she did not attempt to contradict her mother. Certainly, though Mrs. Bennet’s manner of phrasing her words was not the best, at least it was better than her claims that Jane’s marriage would throw her girls “in the paths of rich men,” as she had put it at the Netherfield ball. And in this instance, she was speaking to Elizabeth alone, and not in a voice that all the room could hear, which limited Elizabeth’s mortification.