Doubt and Division

by Kate Barton

  But Lady Catherine ‒ mercifully, in Elizabeth’s opinion – did not stay in the room with them all the time, choosing to flit in and out as she saw fit. She and Charlotte had been told, however, that no such freedoms were to be tolerated for them.

  “I will be most displeased, Miss Bennet,” Her Ladyship had said, “if you decide to go for a stroll in the grounds, as you have done previously. My daughter requires the utmost attention. I really must insist.”

  “Of course, Your Ladyship,” Elizabeth had mumbled.

  The wedding dress was to be the most expensive that Lady Catherine could muster. A dozen yards of pure white silk, plus a dozen more of white muslin with embroidered spangles. Poor Anne looked under siege, as if she were about to be swamped by all the fabric.

  It was sad, thought Elizabeth. The fitting of a lady’s wedding dress should be a happy occasion, and done in the style and taste of the lady herself. But there was nothing of Anne in this. Her mother chose not to consult her on any aspect of it, which Anne seemed entirely resigned to. She stared fixedly at the wall as she was pushed and pulled in every direction, much like a ragdoll.

  “I am sorry, Mama,” she said now. “Would I be able to have a short break? My legs are aching so.”

  Lady Catherine’s nostrils flared slightly. “A short break,” she conceded. “I will send in a tray of tea and cake, directly.” She left the room.

  Anne stepped down from the stool, collapsing gratefully into the nearest chair. Elizabeth noticed that her pinched, pale face was starting to regain colour as she rested. The dressmakers took the opportunity for a break with alacrity, also, scurrying out of the room quickly.

  “The dress seems to be coming along well, Miss de Bourgh,” Charlotte ventured.

  “Indeed,” replied Anne, smiling slightly. But the smile didn’t quite reach her dark eyes.

  “Her Ladyship says that it is the very latest fashion, from France,” Elizabeth said. “The dressmakers have come from London.”

  “Mama would not trust the local dressmakers with this,” said Anne. “Every lady who comes to the wedding will be judging the dress with sharp eyes. It cannot be an inferior product.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head, acknowledging the truth of the statement.

  Charlotte turned to Elizabeth. “Would you mind, dear Lizzy, if I stepped out just for a moment?” she whispered. “I find that I need to stretch my legs. I am in danger of falling asleep entirely.”

  “Of course, Charlotte,” Elizabeth whispered back. “But do not take too long. I fear that Lady Catherine will be back soon, and will not take kindly if you are absent.”

  “If you would excuse me for a moment, Miss de Bourgh.” Charlotte had risen. “I will not be absent long.”

  “Take as long as you please, Mrs Collins,” Anne replied. “The tea has not arrived yet, so there is time.” Charlotte smiled, then departed the room gratefully.

  “Thank you, Miss Bennet,” Anne said now. “It is very nice of you and Mrs Collins to attend me today. I understand it can be quite long and tiring.”

  “For you, especially, Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied. “I was afraid that you were about to fall off the stool, I must admit.”

  Anne smiled. “I think that my mother is afraid that it will not be ready in time,” she said. “It is less than a month to the wedding date.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Why has the date been set so soon?”

  Anne shrugged. “I suppose my mother believes that there is no need to wait,” she answered, crisply. “Perhaps to take advantage of the fine weather?” Elizabeth was dismayed to see the look of resignation in her eyes.

  “Would you like me to suggest to Her Ladyship that you have had enough for today?” Elizabeth gazed at Anne gently. “I will do it gladly. I understand that she will not like it, but she may concede if she is asked in the right manner.”

  Anne shook her head. “Thank you, but no. It is not worth it.”

  Elizabeth felt sudden anger surge through her. Lady Catherine, for all her talk about how she pandered to her daughter’s needs, thought only of herself. She did not care a jot how tiring it was for Anne, to stand all day on a stool, even though she talked all the time about how weak and sickly Anne was. It was unjust. And Anne could not stand up for herself even in this, so great was the mother’s power over her.

  The tea tray arrived, and Elizabeth poured them both a cup. The steaming liquid seemed to revitalise Anne further, as did nibbling on a small slice of fruit cake. Elizabeth sat back, sipping her own tea reflectively.

  Suddenly, she heard a man’s voice in the next room. By the tones, she recognised it as Mr Darcy’s. She tensed, fully expecting that he was about to stride into the room. Then she relaxed, as she remembered why they were here. There was no way that Mr Darcy would intrude on a wedding dress fitting, and he would be reprimanded thoroughly if he did so. She was safe.

  Her mind cast back to the previous day when he had encountered her on the hill. His abominable pride was insufferable. To talk so casually of separating Mr Bingley and Jane, and not even offer an apology! She had never expected one, of course, but it still rankled that he was so cavalier of his role in the affair. And, oblivious to his role in this one, between Anne and the Colonel.

  Lady Catherine strode back into the room. She looked perplexed. “Mrs Collins?” She turned her head, as if expecting that Charlotte would jump out from behind a screen at any moment.

  “She is just stretching her legs, ma’am,” Elizabeth answered. “She shan’t be long.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Catherine said. Elizabeth could tell by the way that her lips thinned that she was not happy, but she chose not to pursue the matter. Not yet, at least. Elizabeth hoped for Charlotte’s sake that she would not be much longer.

  “And what say you, Miss Bennet, about the dress?” Lady Catherine stared at her directly.

  “It is coming along very nicely, Your Ladyship,” she answered. “Although, I have often found when I have dress fittings of my own, that it is good to space them apart, and not stand for too long at any single one. It gives one a chance to reflect on what needs to be altered, or what could yet be added.” She sipped her tea.

  Lady Catherine nodded, slowly. “You may be right, Miss Bennet,” she said. “It is good to reflect, and not rush into it! We may have done enough for today. Anne, I think that we will arrange another fitting for next week, and leave it.”

  Elizabeth watched Anne’s breath slowly expire in relief, and she looked at Elizabeth gratefully. Elizabeth gazed back at her, her eyes soft.

  Chapter Ten

  Anne de Bourgh walked into her chambers, collapsing gratefully onto her chaise lounge. It had been a long and tiring day.

  She had always known that the wedding dress fittings were going to be difficult for her. It wasn’t the physical hardship, really. She could have endured standing on that stool all day, if it had have been under happier circumstances. If, for example, she was being fitted for a dress that she would wear to her wedding to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Then, she would happily endure whatever she must.

  Anne sighed, picturing in her head what it would be like if she had been able to choose her life partner herself. The only partner she had ever desired was him: dear Richard. The man who had always been there for her, for as long as she could remember.

  It had come upon gradually, between them. They had known each other forever, of course; had played together as children, the same as with Mr Darcy. But whereas that gentleman was always aloof and standoffish with her, Richard had talked to her. They would stroll the grounds of Rosings together, playing with his tin soldiers, and sometimes even with her dolls. They hadn’t cared.

  That had been back in the days when her mother hadn’t coddled her, quite so much. That had all changed after she had taken a tumble from her horse one day. She hadn’t hurt herself, not really, but Lady Catherine had carried on as if she had been a whisker away from breaking her neck.

  There had been no more rid
es on the hills with Richard and Darcy. She would look longingly out her bedroom window as they rode off, and she was forced to sit alone. She would cry, sometimes. But she never defied her mother.

  She had always looked forward to Richard’s visits. But then, she had started to long for them so keenly it would sometimes upset her. And if he ever could not come, she would be so disappointed she could barely pin a smile to her face.

  She had told herself that she was being ridiculous, of course. She knew that Richard was fond of her, but she didn’t believe for a moment that he could ever feel anything for her other than cousinly regard. It was maybe warmer than Darcy’s was, but it didn’t mean anything.

  Then there had been the summer where everything had changed.

  She would sometimes steal out to the gardens, when she was supposed to be in her chambers. For a short while when she was rambling, she felt as if she were free, to come and go as she pleased. Elizabeth Bennet had happened upon her doing that, just the other day.

  That summer, it had been night when the urge had suddenly come upon her. They had all dined, just as normal. Lady Catherine had taken Darcy and Richard into the drawing room, afterwards, and told Anne that she must retire. Anne had been bitterly disappointed; Richard had only arrived the day before and she had not spent any time alone with him. But she had gone to her chambers without a word of complaint.

  She had sat in this very spot, looking out the window at a big, dreamy full moon. She had suddenly longed to be out in the night, looking at the moon from the gardens. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? Just one time?

  And so, she had done just that. She had opened her door and tiptoed down the hallway into the gardens. And then stood by the water fountain, gazing up at the moon, lost in contemplation.

  She hadn’t heard him approach. But then, he was suddenly beside her, gazing up at the moon as well. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Her love.

  She caught her breath. Would he chastise her for coming out alone? But he didn’t. They didn’t say anything for a long while. They simply gazed at the moon, as if its silvery beauty was communicating some secret only to them.

  “I picked this for you,” he had whispered, eventually. He handed her a perfect, dusky pink rose. One of her mother’s favourites.

  She had held it to her nose, inhaling its sweet scent deeply. She hadn’t expected the tears, but when they slid down her face, they seemed fitting. The whole situation was bittersweet, after all.

  “Anne,” he had whispered, staring at her. “Why are you crying? I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…”

  She shook her head. “You haven’t upset me, Richard,” she whispered back. “I am just so happy in this moment, gazing at the moon with you, smelling the perfume of the rose. Everything is perfect. I wish that we could stay here in this moment, forever.”

  Richard turned to her, slowly. “Anne, I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said. “There seemed to be no point. But now…I can no longer deny it. My dearest Anne, I find that I love you. You are the reason that I keep returning to Rosings. I can think of no woman but you.”

  She had gasped. She was dreaming, surely? A very strange dream in which Richard was declaring his love to her, on a perfect night, with the full moon shining down on them.

  “I am sorry,” he said quickly. “I overstepped my place. Please disregard what I just said.” He had turned to walk away, but she had stopped him by laying a hand on his arm.

  “Richard,” she breathed. “You do not know how I have longed for this moment! I thought that I was being fanciful…ridiculous. A silly girl. I have loved you, too, for the longest time. But I didn’t know how to tell you, either.”

  They had grasped each other’s hands, basking in the newly declared love between them. That summer night had been theirs, entirely. They had not spoken of the future; they had not spoken of the threat of imminent marriage to Darcy that always hovered like a bird of prey. They had not spoken of Lady Catherine, either. They had simply enjoyed being with each other, in that beautiful moment.

  And so, they were in love. They continued to meet alone when they could. But they had always known that it could never be. Neither of them could see a way around it; Lady Catherine had always been adamant that Anne was destined for Darcy. It was inevitable, just like the sun rising every morning.

  Many times, they had told each other that they must forget each other and accept things as they were. But it never lasted long. They would be drawn back to each other, like moths to a flame.

  No one had ever suspected. They had been very careful. No one, that is, until Miss Elizabeth Bennet had come along. On the very night when the engagement was announced, no less.

  Anne stared out the window, not seeing the gardeners raking and pruning the grand gardens. She liked Miss Elizabeth Bennet, very much. There was so much spirit in the young woman that Anne felt was so lacking in herself. Miss Bennet was everything that Anne wished that she could be, but knew that she never would be.

  Anne had never expected kindness from her, or sympathy. But Miss Bennet had given both, and now Anne thought of her as a friend. The first friend that she had ever had – besides Richard, of course.

  Miss Bennet tried so hard to get Anne to stand up for herself. Anne would look at her in wonder. Only this afternoon, she had carefully manipulated her mother to abandon the dress fitting because she had seen how tired Anne was. Luckily for her, this time it had worked.

  She had seen other people look at Miss Bennet in admiration, too. Darcy, for instance. She had often noticed his eyes straying to her at the dinner table. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that Darcy had a soft spot for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. But Anne did know better; she knew her cousin well, and knew that his pride and innate sense of superiority would never allow finer feelings to flourish. Darcy had a very rigid code of what was acceptable and what was not. Allowing himself to feel something for a young woman of far less social standing to him would not be acceptable.

  And did any of it matter, anyway? Sighing heavily, Anne had to admit that none of it did. She and Darcy would be man and wife in less than a month. She knew that he cared nothing for her. He might regard her somewhat fondly as his cousin, but he had never tried to get to know her. And she could guarantee he had never even considered what her feelings were about their impending marriage.

  No, none of it mattered.

  She suddenly recalled when she had happened on a swan near the lake at Rosings. The poor thing was on the banks, so still that at first she had thought that it was sleeping. She had approached it, quietly, and been dismayed when it had not moved an inch. The poor swan was dead; its mate watched quietly in the distance.

  She was that dying swan. And Richard was the other swan, who could do nothing but watch her from far away.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Lizzy! There is a letter for you!”

  Elizabeth snatched the letter from Maria, smiling her joy at the younger woman. She turned the envelope over. Yes, it was from Jane! She had waited so long for this; she simply couldn’t wait another moment to rip it open and read it. She looked at the others, who were all ready to go on a jaunt to the lake on the far side of the hill, picnic basket in hand.

  “Would you all mind, terribly?” she asked, gazing longingly at the letter.

  Charlotte laughed. “Of course, dearest Lizzy,” she said. “You have been awaiting the letter for so long, I would not dream of delaying you in reading it. We will do well without you, although your presence is always missed, of course.”

  “I do hope my dear cousin is well,” said Mr Collins. “Pray send her our best regards when you reply.”

  Elizabeth nodded, impatiently. They had barely walked out the door when she tore the envelope open, settling in a chair by the fire.

  My dearest Lizzy,

  I know that I have been remiss in writing to you as I promised. But now I am back at Longbourn, and have been for over a week. I find myself with so much time on my hands without you
here to occupy me. Dearest Eliza, you have always known how to distract me from my idle wanderings. I scarce know what to do with myself without you.

  Our mother is well; she has only complained of her nerves once since I have returned, retiring to her bed for the afternoon. Our father took no notice of it, merely remarking that it was a fine thing to be in bed in such glorious weather. Our mother cried at that, telling him that he had never taken her nerves seriously. But she was quite recovered by the following day, so much so that she was back planning with Kitty and Lydia what they would wear to the upcoming ball in Meryton.

  Kitty and Lydia are themselves, as they have always been. They talk of little but the soldiers, and when they can go into Meryton to see them. Lydia, especially, is always entreating our mother to let her stay with Aunt Phillips in town. I am sure that our mother would say yes, but our father dissuades her. To which I am grateful.