Fitzwilliam Darcy strode the length of the library at Rosings three times before his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, entered the room. The Colonel had traveled with him to Kent for Easter to pay a call to their aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Lady Catherine was the elder sister of Mr. Darcy's mother, Lady Anne Darcy, whom he still missed a great deal though she had been dead many years hence. The only way one might have known the two grand ladies were sisters was to have known the Fitzwilliam family, for their dispositions were as night and day with Lady Catherine being the ill tempered sister of the pair.
Richard crossed the room and poured himself a bit of brandy as he watched his cousin's agitated pacing. Fitzwilliam Darcy only did such when he was deep in thought and so Richard decided to take his drink and have a seat by the fireplace.
Rosings was a lovely estate in Kent, nearly as grand as Pemberley, but the spring weather bore more resemblance to late winter than the colonel particularly liked for the season.
Allowing the spirits in his cup and the dancing flames of the fireplace to ease his memories of the chilly weather, Richard sighed as warmth enveloped his weary bones.
He'd been recently too long gone from England as a soldier in His Majesty's finest and his mother, Margaret Fitzwilliam, had been quite unwilling for him to make his customary trip to Kent this year with his cousin. Richard had keenly missed Darcy's unparalleled company and had promised his mother he would not stay a moment longer than necessary before returning to London.
Mr. Darcy ceased his infernal pacing just as Richard was about to rise and refill his glass. Instead, Darcy held out a hand for the crystal vessel and raised a brow. "Shall it be more brandy, then?"
Richard ran a hand through his hair and yawned deeply. "Indeed, Darcy, I require several such portions to relieve the chill in my bones. Riding about this countryside is comforting, likely the best part of visiting Kent in my opinion, but today the sun refuses to grace us with even a bit of warmth."
Mr. Darcy handed his glass back and instead retrieved the decanter and another glass before returning to settle comfortably beside his cousin.
Richard knew by Darcy's uncustomary action, the easy acceptance of an excuse to imbibe before the fire, that the man likely needed an ear to bend. He knew it must concern one Miss Elizabeth Bennet but held his tongue in order not to dissuade his cousin from divulging that which vexed him so greatly.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was quite lovely and Richard had walked with her about the grounds of Rosings several times since arriving in Kent. Her conversation was lively and full of wit. He enjoyed her company immensely but knew his cousin felt a deep connection to the woman that he could not hide from one as familiar as himself.
This was not an unusual habit of his cousin, it was the way Darcy managed his own emotions before sharing them with those he trusted most, Richard being the chief recipient of Darcy's confidence. They were more like brothers than Richard and his own brother, James, but still Darcy was reticent to burden Richard with his struggles.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was the most eligible bachelor of the Ton and as such, well, the man was hounded by mothers who thrust their daughters before him without remorse or regret.
After the two had sipped their brandy for a few moments in silence, Richard turned to his cousin. "Darcy, I know you are most decidedly troubled and that Miss Elizabeth is likely the cause. You may as well tell me now so that we might settle upon a course of action."
Darcy set his half empty glass upon the small, ornate table between them. He had hoped to recover from his visit to the parson's cottage where Miss Elizabeth had broken his heart without good reason or remorse a few hours prior. "I might have known you would see through my customary pacing to the truth of the matter. Be that as it may, I do not think you will believe what I have done and how terribly wrong I have been."
Richard finished his drink and stretched his long legs before motioning for Darcy to continue. "Have out with it, man. Aunt Catherine will soon be seeking to draw us into a gloomy evening in the parlor to discuss the details of spring planting and her boundless generosity to her poor tenants."
Mr. Darcy knew his cousin was correct. Lady Catherine repeated her oft told tales each and every spring for as long as he could remember and this year would be no different. She was the wisest, most benevolent, principled and proper peer of the realm and her subjects were wholly unaware, and therefore not properly grateful, of their distinct fortune in having her attention focused upon their daily lives.
A silly smile flitted across his lips for a moment before disappearing as quickly as it came. Had he not gone to pay a call on Miss Elizabeth, the humor brought on by his aunt's self importance might have been more amusing.
He rested his elbows on his knees as he peered into the fire. "I foolishly offered a proposal of marriage to Miss Elizabeth and she soundly refused me. Can you imagine it? Any number of ladies with better connections and quite a larger dowry would have lied and schemed to have sat where she did this afternoon and swoon before my offer. But not Miss Elizabeth Bennet, oh no sir. My character was deemed abhorrent and my offer thoroughly rejected. I am the last man she might be prevailed upon to marry."
The library door was slightly ajar from Richard's earlier entrance and the slight, soft gasp on the other side of the thick door did not carry into the room. A shadow outside the library door trembled and Miss Anne de Bourgh hurried to the entryway of Rosings after a moment's hesitation in which she knew she must go to the parsonage on her cousin's behalf.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had become a delightful companion for the young mistress of Rosings in the weeks since her arrival. Anne de Bourgh could think of nothing more than rushing to her friend's side.
Knowing her mother would be angry did she know of her daughter's intentions, the slip of a young lady retrieved her spencer from a closet near the front door and ventured out without giving notice to anyone, not her maid nor even the butler.
Hurrying her steps, Anne de Bourgh walked briskly to the stables and had the groom ready her gig. He began to refuse her but Anne spoke sharply to the man. "Do you wish to face the wrath of my mother for denying me your services?"
The groom's face paled considerably at this outburst and he hastened to do the young miss's bidding. He knew either way her ladyship was likely to have his hide. In a trice, the groom had Anne's gig ready but managed another warning for his mistress. "Forgive me, Miss, but your mother will be most angry. Perhaps you ought to wait until she, or one of your cousins, might accompany you?"
Anne ignored the man and climbed easily into the small gig. She'd driven it about Rosings and Hunsford many a time and had no concerns about doing so again under such circumstances, even though the groom was right to warn her to wait for her mother.
In this instance, she had no choice in the matter. Lady Catherine would send her to her rooms and certainly instruct the groom never to follow the young mistress's instructions again. She simply had to speak with Miss Elizabeth this night.
With a smart flick of her wrist, Anne de Bourgh was off in a mad dash to the parson's cottage. Though Anne knew little of the ways of courtship between a lady and a gentleman from having been lonely at Rosings for years without the benefit of balls, dances, or soirees, she knew well enough that her cousin Fitzwilliam was quite taken with Elizabeth Bennet.
The manner in which his eyes followed Miss Elizabeth as she crossed the room to stand beside Anne at the piano forte of an evening was so romantic. His repressed feelings were the stuff of the novels Anne hid from her mother.
After a few minutes of driving her gig in the cool evening air, Anne began to shiver though she wore a heavy dress under her spencer. It was not often she was allowed to go out upon a spring day, let alone a spring evening, for her mother feared the air would kill her.
To distract herself from the chill that crept through the folds of her skirt, Anne imagined how lovely a summer wedding at Pemberley might be in the splendid gardens and a smile bloomed on her pretty face. Anne de Bourgh, had she been allowed a season, would have been as popular as her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy. Though she was frail, her beauty was of a classical, timeless nature.
Her hair was golden and featured lustrous, loose waves that framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her light blue eyes were the exact shade of the cornflower blooms along the side of the road and her smile made them brighter, infusing them with a warmth rarely seen in one so highly born and favored.
How she longed for a season but had given up hopes for such a dream over the years. Her mother had told her she was to marry her cousin and so there was no need for a season. But Fitzwilliam was like unto a brother in her mind. She could not conceive of a life married to him, nor of bearing him an heir, though she loved him a great deal.
Now that Miss Elizabeth was in Kent, and Anne had seen with her own eyes the young lady's effect upon her handsome, bachelor cousin, perhaps her chance to go to London for a season was within her grasp. Her mother could not compel Fitzwilliam to marry her, for she had overheard their arguments each spring for several years on the matter. She and Fitzwilliam dearly loved one another but not in a romantic fashion.
Knowing that she would soon be at the cottage, Anne did not fear the shadows of the evening that lengthened across the tree-lined lane. She would implore Miss Elizabeth to accompany her to Rosings and sort out the misunderstanding and there would be a lovely wedding.
Flicking the reins once more, Anne de Bourgh bounced on her seat as the horse cantered down the familiar lane.
