"Fitzwilliam."
Darcy looks up at the greeting, at the vision of a teary-eyed young lady with golden hair and a pensive smile.
"You remember your sister, surely?" Richard asks, his hand on the lady's arm.
"My sister - " Darcy frowns. A tear escapes the young lady's eye. "I mean - Georgiana, of course. I remember."
A sense of relief courses through him when his quick recollection of the names recently handed him manages to calm the new arrival.
"We apologize for the delay," Richard explains, as he escorts Darcy's supposed sister closer to him. All three individuals seat themselves on a respective chair in the heavily decorated Rosings Park parlor. "The carriage door had to be adjusted quite soon after we left London."
"I see," says Darcy.
He has been lonely, if he is to be honest with himself. Trapped inside the tapestried walls of his aunt's home, he has found himself yearning for a simple woodland cottage more than for relatives he barely remembers.
But he supposes he cannot undermine their concern.
"Aunt Catherine has communicated that this wedding shall occur with the utmost urgency," Richard continues, when no one else does. "I have been informed that she has secured means to a special license, which shall be brought to us by the day after tomorrow."
Having nothing else left to say, Darcy reiterates. "I see."
"Georgiana and I have brought our finest clothes." Richard sounds as if he is trying to be humorous.
It is simply unfortunate that Darcy has been incapable of humor since their departure from Hertfordshire.
"I suppose you have brought yours as well, Darce?"
Darcy leans his head backwards against the back of his chair. "I may well be dressed in anything. I doubt our aunt and fair cousin would care."
Perhaps it was the tone of his voice - or the resignation he makes no attempt to hide - that leads Richard to lower his voice.
"Are you well, Darce?"
Darcy frowns as he looks down. His fingers fiddle vainly on his lap.
How is he to explain to these people, people who have been verified to be his flesh and blood, that he finds no joy in this recovered life? How can he expect them to understand that the prospect of having his family around him to witness his marriage is no comfort at all?
"Fitzwilliam?" A female voice calls. It is not Anne's voice, and it takes Darcy a small moment before realizing his supposed sister is speaking. "I hope you and Anne are happy."
And it is hopes like that, so simply expressed, that continue to bind Darcy to his unwillingly recovered life.
"I must admit," Richard speaks again, "that I had no idea you have finally acquiesced to our aunt's expectations. You used to swear that you would never marry Anne."
Did he?
A new wave of doubt washes over Darcy's myriad thoughts. Whom can he trust? Is his supposed cousin's doubts enough of a reason to question the future that has already been clearly laid out for him?
"I suppose we have no choice but to be happy, do we?" He barks bitterly, frowning at the foreign young lady seated across him in this foreign place.
He hates his life.
But he has no other one to return to.
"Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam," a footman announces. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh requests your audience."
And Darcy stands without another word.
"I am, of course, most heartily honored to be the one to officiate the wedding between my esteemed patroness's daughter and her most outstanding groom. I understand that Lady Catherine has full intention for the event to be of the utmost importance for all residents of the estate, and we are indeed indubitably honored to be hosting such a remarkable occasion."
"You are hardly the host," Lady Catherine corrects the blabbering parson.
Darcy feels that he has nearly fainted, twice, from the sheer ridiculousness filling the room.
It seems almost unfair that one cannot decide to fall ill at will, for he would very much rather be on a sickbed at this moment rather than continuing to be the race horse his aunt parades before guest after guest. And he cannot help, as well, harboring the occasional fantasy of fainting on his feet only to wake once more in the Hertfordshire woods, in a cottage on the edge of Longbourn.
"Darcy, you must agree." His aunt's voice interrupts his private musings.
Darcy raises his head.
He is unsure what he is conceding to, but he says, nonetheless, "Of course, Aunt Catherine."
Richard and Georgiana stare oddly at him.
Perhaps he has acted out of character.
But who still truly knows his character after all that has befallen him?
"Even my nephew concurs," Lady Catherine announces, her voice haughty and dry, "Mr. Collins, it is imperative that you visit your cousin in Hertfordshire as soon as my daughter's wedding concludes."
"But of course, Lady Catherine." The pudgy parson bows. "Your wisdom and Mr. Darcy's wisdom know no bounds. It is most charitable of him to agree that we ought to reward the Bennet family's kindness through the gift of matrimony."
Darcy frowns.
What did his aunt said before his blind concession?
"Then it is settled," the mistress of Rosings Park declares. The great lady adjusts her bountiful clothes around her and lifts her head into a high and tilted pose. "We shall have the wedding the day after the morrow. And following the event, as I have so graciously promised, I shall lend my carriage to Mr. Collins to proceed to Longbourn, where he shall marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet for her kindness to our family."
Darcy feels his heart turning into a thick, hard stone - and dropping to the floor by his feet.
For the rest of the day, not a single human being can approach him without earning a fierce glare and a hearty scold.
And when Anne attempts to approach him alone again in the library that night, he unceremoniously throws her out into the hall.
He wakes with an ache in his head, and Darcy shifts to a seat on his canopy bed with a hand on his temple.
He recalls having partaken of a few drinks the night before, although the subtlety of the lingering effects proves a certain degree of temperance, at least.
A few steps into his empty bedroom reminds him of why he ever felt the need to drink at all last night, and his anger resumes.
How dare Lady Catherine toss about commands over other people's lives the way she does? How dare she sentence someone as spirited and lovely as Miss Lizzy to a life tethered to that toad of a parson?
Darcy grunts in his indignation.
As he paces in the stillness of the early morning, a gradual recollection of yesterday's event brings to light a handful of his own faults. He was rude to the parson. He was cold towards his family. His sister, who seems to be constantly on the brink of tears, has received nothing but cool indifference from him since her arrival.
And then there was, of course, the case of Anne.
He may have no wish to be betrothed to her - but there are very few excuses Darcy can proffer for the way he shouted at her to leave him alone last night.
He supposes he should apologize.
He dares not express to her how little romantic regard he has for her, but he will try to at least be civil.
And to be civil, he must first apologize for his abhorrent behavior.
"Mother, people may hear," Anne's voice echoes down the hallway even before Darcy reaches her bedroom door.
"Nonsense. No one rises this early after retiring so late."
"But Darcy - "
"Is a fool."
Darcy stops short at his cousin's door. Of all the things the mother and daughter may be discussing, they are choosing to confer about him.
He pauses, deciding to refrain from knocking.
"Mother, he does not like me," Anne continues, clearly unaware that the man she referred to is standing at her door. "I have tried - "
"You have not tried hard enough!"
"He never did like me! Not before his accident and certainly not now!"
"Your health is failing. We have no other choice."
"And what if he remembers?" An anxiety has creeped into Anne's voice. "What if he remembers the truth and rejects me?"
"All the more reason to have the wedding posthaste."
"He shrinks from me, Mother, and avoids my company."
"Then force yourself upon him."
"I have - I cannot - "
"God knows we needed the second chance. If Gus and his men had half the sense they had and did as they were told - "
"It is all your fault, Mother."
"You dare accuse me, Anne!"
"You chose the company. You said they would do as they were told and compromise him as they should."
"I mean nothing but your happiness."
"I am not happy now."
"It was the robbers' fault."
"No, Mother." Now, Anne's voice sounds almost venomous. "If you hadn't arranged for the attack on Darcy, I would never have been in this predicament!"
Darcy stands, stone still, for an entire minute as the weight of the words he's overheard settles itself on his chest.
Then, in a trance, he wanders towards his other cousin's door.
A/N: Richard did speak up! But maybe not as resolutely as one might want him to be, hehe. I have a modern AU planned after The Child, so I would then be posting two stories that are quite far out there for a while before going back to Regency England. I hope it doesn't end up too crazy for everyone!