Anne shook her head. “No one, not even Mrs. Jenkinson. Mamá does not approve of poetry, and Mrs. Jenkinson must answer to her. It is best if she does not know. I was working on these today and was surprised by her while I was consulting Wordsworth and so secreted my poems in its leaves.”
“But, Anne,” Darcy protested, “you cannot keep this forever to yourself! Share them with your family, at the least!” He sat down next to her and took her hands in his. For the first time, she did not flinch or pull away. “Anne?”
“You need not fear being saddled with me as your wife, Cousin. I know Mamá wishes you to believe that I am becoming well, but I fear she is deluding herself. I am not better, Cousin, and I have come to the conviction that I will never be healthy enough to marry anyone.”
“Anne! My dear girl!” Darcy held her hands tighter.
“That was when I began to write,” she whispered near his shoulder. “I wanted finally to say something, create something…something beautiful, perhaps…without Mamá’s interference or her criticism.” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I know people think little of me; and I do not blame them, for there is little to see or admire. But, I feel things, Cousin, deeply; and when I became convinced of my future, those feelings seemed to gather and burst through to paper.” She looked up at him, only a hint of a tear shining in her eyes. “I will never marry, never have children. These are my legacy, poor as they are. And I am not yet finished, not finished feeling, not finished writing what I feel. I could not bear Her Ladyship’s scorn nor, should she change her opinion, that she puff me about. Can you understand, Cousin? Will you keep my secrets?”
“Dear God, Anne!” Darcy stared at his cousin, then at their clasped hands as helplessness consumed him. Of course he would remain silent, but what did that signify in the face of her confession? “Can you be mistaken?” he finally managed.
“There is no mistake, Cousin.” Anne looked at him with the compassion he should have been offering up to her.
He looked down at her small hand resting in supplication upon his sleeve. There must be more comfort he could give than his vow. “I promise. Your secrets are safe, Anne. I would that there were more than my mere silence to merit your gratitude. I have avoided and ignored you shamefully, and I am heartily sorry for it.”
Anne gently disengaged her hand from his clasp and rose from the settee. “Do not berate yourself, Cousin. It was a game Her Ladyship forced upon us. Whereas I had not the strength or courage to gainsay her, you have handled her brilliantly. For that, you have my thanks.” A weary sigh escaped her lips, causing Darcy to rise in concern. “No, I am just a little tired. Please, I must return to my room. I am supposed to be resting.” She cast him a rueful smile. “It has been good finally to tell someone, Darcy. Strange that it should be you.” And with a curtsy, she was gone from the library, its door shutting softly behind her, leaving Darcy to the contemplation of the rain spattering against the great windows.
Anne did not appear at dinner that evening. Mrs. Jenkinson arrived late in the salon outside the dining room with her charge’s plea that she be excused due to a sick headache and fatigue. Dinner was, therefore, a desultory affair, for which the inclement weather was held accountable and for which an evening of billiards was prescribed as the most promising means of relief by an emboldened and fidgety Richard. His hopes were to be dashed, at least temporarily, by a demand from his aunt that he and his cousin undertake to relieve her boredom by presenting themselves at the card table in the drawing room immediately after their brandy.
“Will you be in humor to play after Her Ladyship retires?” Fitzwilliam looked at his cousin from under gathered brows before tossing down the remainder of his glass and motioning to Darcy to refill it. “Cards with the she-dragon and Mrs. Jenkinson is rather not my idea of the way to retrieve a day characterized chiefly by its deadly dullness.” He took another sip. “Lord, I wish the parsonage had been able to come! Then we should have had some fun!”
“Although I cannot supply you the fascination, I will endeavor to answer your need for entertainment,” Darcy responded drily as he filled Fitzwilliam’s glass and set down the decanter, bridling as he did so at Richard’s allusion to Elizabeth. He could not like the easy manner in which his cousin spoke of her, and he determined to bring it to an immediate halt. “Or is it that quarter day is too distant a prospect?”
“No, my pockets are not to let quite yet, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam’s chin came up at his cousin’s ungracious jab. “And you are off the mark on the other as well. I have found you to be excessively fascinating on this visit to Kent.”
The brandy in Darcy’s glass sloshed back and forth. “Then the military life must not be as demanding a profession as is claimed,” he retorted, meeting Richard’s sharp-eyed regard, but almost immediately he regretted it. This tack would only encourage his cousin’s curiosity, and his accusation was more than provocative! “Your pardon, Richard, that was uncalled for.” He leaned back in the chair. If only he could retreat to the library or his rooms! The tension between the demands of his heart and his name, coupled with the intensity of his disappointment in not seeing Elizabeth that day, were causing him to act like a prize gudgeon.
“My apologies as well, Fitz.” Richard sat down heavily and motioned out the nearby window. “It must be this damned, drizzily rain. Has us both up in the boughs. Pax, old man?” He raised his glass.
Darcy nodded and tipped his glass up in response. “Pax.” They both took long, slow swallows. “Do you think we dare test this peace of ours and indulge in a few racks later?” He noted to his cousin then, with a motion of his hand, that the brandy was causing a reddish flush to spread over Richard’s cheeks.
Fitzwilliam rubbed at his jaw and laughed. “Perhaps we had better examine our tempers and our sobriety after Her Ladyship has tried them at the card table. We may both be ready to commit mayhem by the time the last card is played!”
The tedium of Lady Catherine’s card play and its accompanying monologue drove both men to seek the sanctuary of their rooms rather than hazard their tempers at the billiard table. It was undoubtedly one of the wiser decisions he and Richard had made recently, Darcy thought as he passed through the bedchamber door and was quietly greeted by his valet. The day’s revelations and disappointments could only make Darcy receive with relief Fletcher’s quick promise of hot water and a soothing concoction of his father’s recipe the moment he had divested him of his evening attire. Later, his ablutions completed and seated before the bedchamber’s low fire wrapped in his dressing gown, Darcy made a halfhearted attempt to collect his thoughts. But the hour, the fire, the warmth of the drink sliding smoothly down his throat all conspired to send them straightway down the path, through the grove, and past the pales to a certain residence where eyes alight with a welcoming smile waited to comfort the ache in his heart at their too-long absence.
“Oh!” The single exclamation was more than enough to bring Darcy round from his study of some insect-wrought damage to several of the trees, which he had noticed while awaiting Elizabeth’s appearance. The trees were still sturdy enough, but if something were not done, they would eventually be reduced to hollow shells and become a danger to any who passed by. He had just finished his assessment and made a mental note to send for Lady Catherine’s forester when Elizabeth had come upon him as he rounded one of the damaged trees.
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed, his entire being coming suddenly alive with pleasure at the sight of her as well as relief that he had not missed her. Further, judging from the direction she had come, she was at the fore of her walk, which meant that he would have her company for the greater part of an hour. Excellent!