Chapter Eight

The next few months passed peacefully, though the rash of births, weddings, and courtships meant that the Darcys were no longer able to spend so much of their time at Pemberley.

Colonel Fitzwilliam married an admiral's vivacious niece, Miss Crawford; despite her undoubted charm, Rosemary could not like her. Mrs Fitzwilliam, while quite fond of her husband, seemed equally fond of the other Fitzwilliam men. It apparently did not signify that three were married and the fourth engaged.

Her flirtations might very well have extended to her other brother-in-law, Lord Northbrook, if the former Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam were not quite so incalculable. Even Mrs Fitzwilliam did not dare rouse her new sister's fury. She restrained her attentions to Lord Milton, Mr Fitzwilliam, and Mr Darcy. Rosemary seethed quietly and could not bring herself to care greatly that she deeply offended the newly married couple when she unceremoniously snatched her daughter out of Mrs Fitzwilliam's arms.

She discovered a well-preserved antique book that Darcy had been looking for since before their marriage, and purchased it on the spot, caring nothing for the extortionate sum the shopkeeper demanded. She had thought of simply giving it to him on the spot, but as it was February, she hid it among the comportment manuals inherited from her mother, and shyly presented it to him for his thirtieth birthday. He was delighted beyond words and impulsively laughed and whirled her around. She never saw him so happy, until one day about six months later.

Darcy was busily attending to some letters and could not entertain his daughter, who protested energetically. It took all of Rosemary's strength simply to hold her back, as she would instantly crawl over to his desk if left to herself. Finally, Anne capitulated and began sobbing softly into her mother's shoulder. Rosemary and Darcy looked at one another ruefully.

Anne sniffed, rubbed her nose, and held out her arms to her father. 'Pa-pa,' she said plaintively. Chaos ensued; Darcy's face lit up and he rewarded Anne by taking her into his arms and holding her high above the ground, much to her delight. Rosemary burst into happy tears. Mrs Reynolds came by to see what the matter was and stopped, sniffling, despite her advanced years quite unable to miss Anne's happy chant of 'Papa, Papa, Papa.'

Anne picked up new words quickly. After 'Papa' came 'Mama,' 'Old' (Mrs Reynolds), 'Nana' (Georgiana), and 'Bing' (Mr Bingley). Within a few months she had acquired a rudimentary vocabulary, and promptly began stringing it all together.

She understood more than she spoke, and incessantly enquired of her father, 'But Papa, why?'

Rosemary would have been perfectly happy to take her away, teach her that her father was not to be disturbed in his study and she must discipline herself; but Darcy would not stand for it. 'She is just a child, Mary; there will be time for that later,' he declared, and Rosemary, who once again found herself growing tired at odd moments, easily acceded. For every why there was an answer, which Rosemary at first believed Anne, not yet two years old, couldn't possibly understand. But she did and only asked more questions.

'This is what comes of reading Euclid to a little girl,' she told Darcy, but he only smiled with an expression positively whimsical and shrugged his shoulders.

Then they went to Kent, for another Fitzwilliam marriage — this time the earl's nephew Henry Fitzwilliam. He was a promising young barrister, by his own account neither pious enough for the Church nor courageous enough for the military. He also bore a striking resemblance to her husband; Mr Fitzwilliam's eyes were warmer and darker, and he stood two or three inches shorter than his younger cousin, but at a distance even the eagle-eyed Lady Catherine could not tell them apart.

Lady Catherine was the only member of the family not pleased at Darcy's marriage. She had always intended him for her sickly daughter Anne, who was now so frail that she could not walk and spent most of her time asleep. She was, however, somewhat mollified by Rosemary's fortune and her connection to his family. She was even more mollified by the rapid production of her first great-niece, named — like her own daughter — in honour of her beloved sister. With no possibility of grandchildren, Lady Catherine's great-nieces and -nephews were her only chance to criticise her relations' parental inadequacies, and the opportunity was not to be passed up.

'Anne is certainly a very talkative child,' she announced. 'I have not heard so many questions since you were her age, Darcy. It is quite singular for a girl, she may well become too clever.'

'Surely one cannot be too clever, aunt,' he replied.

Rosemary bit her lips to hide a smile and looked down. The food was fine and very well-done, but she felt rather faint and could scarcely swallow. Everything was far more blurry than she recalled, and at one point she nearly spilt her wine. She did not dare touch it after that and played with her food while Lady Catherine droned on.

'She is your heir, of course?'

'Yes, ma'am. You know that Pemberley is not entailed.'

Lady Catherine made a noise of approval. 'Excellent. With your combined fortunes — ' she favoured Rosemary with an almost fond look — 'I daresay it shall not greatly signify how eccentric she is. Any man will be quite fortunate to have her.'

Darcy smiled. 'I flatter myself, my dear aunt, that we are in complete agreement on that point.'

Rosemary had never thought to be so glad to return to Pemberley, even if she could not clearly make out the beauty she had learnt to love. She had no idea what was wrong. She would have thought she had conceived again were it possible. She nearly fell down the staircase one morning; as she swayed, eyes drifting shut, Darcy happened across her and caught her, forcefully taking her to Georgiana's parlour and sitting her down. From who-knew-where he procured smelling salts, the pungent odour bringing her sharply to, and demanded to know how long she had been ill. She did not know — it had come on so slowly — at first she had simply been a little dizzy at times, but that was normal — and she thought it because she had lost her appetite. When, he asked, when was this; and could only stare in horror when she reluctantly confessed that it predated their marriage by several years. It was nothing, simply a poor constitution, she insisted. Darcy without further ado sent for two doctors, one the apothecary from Lambton and the other a respected London physician.

'Mr Darcy, Lady Rosemary . . .' Their prognoses were identical, and it only took the couple a moment to interpret the apothecary's strained, nervous features. Rosemary gasped, the world spun about, and Darcy held her upright, utterly still. Perhaps she borrowed something of his calm then — she never said. But a serenity descended upon her in that moment which even she wondered at occasionally.

The next two months were some of the happiest she had ever lived. She spent more time with Anne, who, naturally affectionate, entertained herself by pressing exuberant kisses over her mother's face. She talked with Darcy — not as she had always done, simply making conversation, but for a purpose, with real depth and intensity. He was her greatest comfort then, for those were what he could speak of, the things that others veered away from or did not dare approach.

One day she looked at him — by now he was little more than a blur to her eyes — and said quietly, 'You will be free, soon.'

'Mary, you cannot believe —'

'No, no — but listen to me for a moment. And do not interrupt! I do not wish to be forgotten. No-one does.' She laughed lightly. 'You shan't forget, my dear, you never do. But Fitzwilliam — you are an excellent man. I am certain I do not know a better. No, let me finish. You have been a good husband, better than I expected. But this is enough.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Enough martyrdom, Fitzwilliam.' She laid her hand, nearly transparent now, over his. 'There is more to life, even your life, than duty and honour and obligation. I know you. You will devote yourself to Anne and withdraw into your slice of paradise. Duty always comes first with you. But do not forget all those who care for you, Mr Bingley and Georgiana and even Lady Catherine, in your adherence to it.' She stopped, and laughed self-consciously. 'I sound terribly hackneyed and dramatic, but I have not your gift for words. Just — somewhere, Fitzwilliam, there is a young lady, who, I think, you love very much. Do not apologise! You made certain I knew before our marriage. There are no half-measures with you. You did not think she cared for you, but what if you were wrong? Do not make the same mistake again.'

He clasped his fingers tightly around hers. 'It was not a mistake, Mary.'

'If she cared for you, as you did for her, as you still do, I cannot comprehend what she must have suffered. At least I had the comfort of knowing my love would have chosen me, did choose me. Perhaps it was not a mistake, marrying me, but I feel for that young woman. I think thatshe did love you — at least she did when you returned to Netherfield with a wife. She had no very cordial feelings for me, I am afraid.'

She could hear his sharply-indrawn breath, and smiled peacefully. 'It was very obvious, in retrospect. I will admit to being hopelessly blind at the time, so caught up in my own concerns that I could not see what was immediately before me. I could not understand why she so disliked me, until I had so much time with my own thoughts. I had not the smallest idea that she was the one. She was so very unsuitable, you know, it never even entered my head.'

His fingers tightened unconsciously around her cold ones. 'Mary, I am sorry. I tried — '

'Yes, I know.' She tried to look him directly in the eyes. 'Do not run away again, Fitzwilliam. I want you to be happy when I am gone.'

He bent his head. 'I shall try.'

'But do not forget me,' she added, with sudden fierce anxiety. 'I don't wish to be forgotten, either.' She laughed suddenly. 'Remember little Amelia Gardiner? Rosemary for remembrance.'

'I shan't forget you, Rosemary.'

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Lady Rosemary Darcy died on a chilly morning in August. Georgiana had stayed with her sister during the last days of her illness, and remained to comfort her brother and niece. Anne could not understand and cried piteously for her mother, comforted only by her father's arms and voice. The Fitzwilliams came along with Mr and Mrs Bingley, the latter's kindness and serenity never more welcomed than at this time.

On Anne's second birthday, Darcy bundled her up and took her to see her mother's grave, handing her a sprig of rosemary and carefully explaining why Mama was no longer with them. Anne listened and placed the sprig on Rosemary's grave. 'For 'memrance,' she said tearfully. 'Aunt Nana says.'

'Yes,' he said, 'yes, it is.' He lifted her up with a sigh and pressed his cheek against her black hair.

'We go in,' said Anne, her voice muffled by his cravat. 'It's cold.'

End Part I