Anne lay stretched out across her chaise lounge as the afternoon sun flooded the parlour with warm golden overtones. Her whole body felt heavy which was not helped by the weighty fabrics of her walking dress. She would be wise to go change into her dressing gown and rest in her room before the need to change for dinner; but even the thought of such an activity was too much to contemplate. She felt utterly fatigued. The physical excursion of daytime socialising, in general, always left Anne in need of an hour's solitude before dinner. Adding to this also was her earlier unpleasant exchange between herself and those two retrenched gossips, who were to be assumed genteel ladies! The events of the day had left her with a head ready to explode.
Yet even after the days noise and unpleasant company, the home comforts of her solitary residence, left her feeling uneasy. Where she used to find comfort and solace in the sanctuary of her own good company; she at this moment, when rest and peace should be her only desire, was left wanting. Why did she feel so out of sorts? So hollow and lacking in her own sound mind and company?
It was not as though her social calendar was lacking, she had far more engagements than she wished to attend, and alongside Georgiana and Louisa, had many daily callers. She loved Georgiana dearly. Her most treasured advantage of being in London was the opportunity to spend more time in her young cousins' company. Darcy was a wonderful guardian and brother, but Anne knew only too well how young girls needed a female confidant to help ease one's burdens.
Over the last few months Anne had also grown exceedingly fond of Louisa Hurst; a notion she would not have once thought possible. Over looking her mindless need for chatter, and when separated from her sister's influence, Louisa expressed herself to be a caring, rather sweet friend. Oh course at times the woman could be entirely ridiculous, but perhaps this was part of her charm.
She thought of her afternoon visitor from the day before. She had received another call from Richard, this time a large offering of midsummer blooms in his hand. Richard, how hard she used to try and not think of Richard. Upon her first seeing him again at Rosings Park her heart and head had been all a flutter. Learning that his feelings for her had been true and her mother's interference evident, she had been filled with such anger and disappointment. His ashen brown hair and pale blue eyes had once tormented her dreams nightly. To see him again after so long was always going to bring back suppressed feelings from within her very soul.
Then why was it, now on her own, at liberty to do as she pleased; did she not seek out his company at every opportunity? Although she still felt uncertain of herself in his presence, she did not feel so consumed by those feelings of unknown love she had once known. She had often wondered during her time in Scotland, observing her cousins and their happy marriages, if Anne's feelings towards Richard were no more than a girlish infatuation.
She was most certain that she had been in love with Richard. The love she had felt at nineteen had been pure and all consuming. She had pinned for him with a heart so full of sadness and loss, she had all but given up on feeling happy and well again. When her aunt Tilly had taken her to Scotland, it was as though she were nursing a broken bird, too frail to fly and too timid to ask for help. No one knew of her torment. She stopped eating, simply shut down, trying anything to overpower the new pain which felt so alien and uncontrollable.
Anne had never had a happy home life, she knew that now, though could not be sorry for it. That summer at Matlock, Richard had made Anne feel appreciated, his actions so attentive towards seeing her happy. Had she fallen in love with Richard as a naive girl of nineteen simply because he showed her affection? Now with the advantage of being five and twenty, and having seen more of the world, Anne could not be sure.
During their recent meetings, Anne could not help notice an odd feeling when in Richards presence. She sensed something of his character which she could not place, something she could not recall having ever noticed about his person from within her youth. His turn of phrase seemed almost calculated, poised. He behaved in such a manner as to suggest that each expression became a carefully considered manoeuvre, all part of something much greater. Even if he loved her, he had at the time, chosen to forget her. This, along with her mother's warning over his desire for wealth above all, left Anne often wondering at Richards sudden renewed interest in her person. What surprised Anne most was she was not sure she wished for such attentions. It was almost laughable when one considered their past.
One thing her heartbreak over Richard had given her was her freedom. Staying in Scotland for such a length of time had allowed Anne to heal, to come out from behind her mother's shadow and to allow people to see her truly for the first time. She had become well again, moving past her melancholy to embrace knew pastimes and enjoyments. She would never have believed a gentleman such as Lord Colville would become such a dear friend and confidant. He was the only person in the whole world whom she had shared her feelings of heartache with. Oh, she had never divulged the particulars, but he had listened to her woes so sympathetically and responded only in kind. He probably wouldn't even remember such a silly conversation; but Anne, she would always remember the moment in which she gave her full trust to Edward.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Oh, how she longed for Edward to return to London. She felt utterly miserable and lost without him. He gave her strength which she had never truly realised. Having his good opinion and friendship had done more for herself believe and confidence than she cared to acknowledge. How naive the girl had been those three years hence whom he found hiding under a table in the middle of a childish game!
Even when amongst the genteel set of the Edinburgh season, there had always been whispers that perhaps there was more meaning to their friendship. At the time Anne had simply been flattered, but with a head and heart still full of Richard and her own feelings of inadequacy, had never paid concern to such ideas. Was it so odd that a man and woman could not be friends? People simply liked to talk. Edward had been quite amused by such gossip, and being the sort of lively fellow who took great delight in teasing people, had flirted with Anne all the more. She had allowed herself to merely enjoy his attentions, for she knew his character and took no offense.
However, this last week she had tried at every quiet moment to consider if any of these acts could have perhaps been in anyway real? Did she want them to be? The more she thought upon it the more she was inclined to believe she did. Even Darcy himself seemed to believe Edward displayed a partiality towards her.
Anne thought of her brief exchange with Fitz the evening after his first meeting Lord Colville as an almost daily occurrence. Anne had been so sure the men would get along and was quite thrilled when this was indeed the case. She had replayed her cousins words over and over. Darcy was all good sense; he was not one to exaggerate. Gossip was one thing, but if Darcy believed he observed something more, perhaps that suggested some truth in the matter?
She thought over Darcy's response yet again; 'I saw the way in which he looks upon you. Believe me when I say, I know the look of a man who has lost all sense over a lady."
This observation from her cousin had played on Anne's mind frequently over this last sennight. Edward was kind to her of course, generous and sometimes possessed a look of such intensity... but could he love her? This was the question in which Anne was unsure she wished to know the answer. Could such a man, so well connected and admired be in love with someone like her? Oh, she knew on paper she had breeding and wealth, but even that only went so far. She was no longer in the first flush of youth nor an elegant social butterfly. She was not the sort of lady who would make him a proper wife. He would only find her lacking. Why would the handsome Lord Colville, Viscount of Arbuthnot consider Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park as someone worthy of his favour?
What are you doing you silly girl, Anne scolded herself, sounding so like her mother it should have sent alarm bells ringing. At any other time, she would have found such a realisation rather amusing, but this was not the moment. Why are you fretting so, asked the voice firmly. Why are you questioning your worth? When has Edward ever given you occasion to believe you are not worthy of his attention or admiration. Do not be such a simpleton as to talk yourself out of something which has not yet begun.
Anne sat up on the chaise as though someone had suddenly turned on a light. Why was she trying to rationalise herself out of Edwards path when she did not even know if he had feelings for her or not? He was what? Five and thirty? A good time for any man to consider taking a wife. He was handsome to be sure; even Georgianna could not hide her admiration for his dark looks and fine figure. Caroline Bingley had no scruples in showing her preference to the man when afforded with his company. Yet it was Anne whom he partnered at every occasion possible; it was she he sought out when in company; and her parlour he came to on evenings when not otherwise engaged. They had spent many evenings of late with only the other for company. It just felt so natural, even though, deep down, Anne knew it was improper.
She bit her bottom lip in contemplation. She glanced at the growing pile of unread evening newspapers upon the end table. She had not allowed Mrs Marks to remove any just in case Edward had not been able to get his usual daily papers in Epsom.
She was scared. Worried. She feared above all else losing his friendship, yet she knew now she wanted so much more from him. As soon as he returned from Epsom Spa she would observe him, study him and his actions in her company. Surely if he felt something more towards her, she would know? Are women not meant to know of such things?
She tried to compare her feelings towards Edward to those of Richard. The more she had seen Richard lately, the less under his spell she had become. She believed he would always have some hold over her; a girls first love can never truly be forgotten. Her feelings towards Edward were so different she did not know how to comprehend them.
Edward was her truest friend, her confidant and protector. She felt safe in his company, but also happy and engaged. How could one feel comfortable yet also excited by another's presence? This was no girlish infatuation, her feelings towards Edward had blossomed slowly over time. She could now not imagine a life where his presence and devilish smile were absent. Upon leaving her family in Elgin to return to Rosings Park, Anne had cried for the first one hundred miles of the journey. She had assumed, at the time, this was due to her leaving the care of her extended family and submitting to the confines of her ancestral home with her mother. She had cried over leaving Edward then, but had not understood the meaning behind her sobs until this very week when they had been parted once more. She did not wish to be apart from him any longer. If he would have her, she was determined to be his wife.
At that moment the bell in the hall rang out sharply, signalling the arrival of a late visitor to number twelve. Anne glanced at the Buell mantle clock. It was gone five, who would call at such an improper hour? Her heart began to pound as a wide smile spread across her cheeks. She knew exactly who arrived at such an hour. She leapt from the chaise and crossed the room heading towards the entryway. Opening the door, she was met with a rather shocked Mrs Marks by Anne's sudden appearance.
"Begging your pardon Miss, but Mrs Hurst is here to see you, I told her you were resting before dining at the Darcy's this evening, but she was most determined to see you now."
"Oh," Anne replied the disappointment on her face evident.
"I can tell her you are unavailable for visitors if you wish it to be so," replied the house keeper watching the bright, wide smile upon her mistress's face disappear.
"No, it is quite alright, I am not expected at the Darcy's until seven. Could you please tell Hennie to layout the green silk gown with the scalloped neck line, she will know the one I refer to. Please send Mrs Hurst in, though if you could please give me but a moment."
Anne turned and entered the parlour once more, closing the door firmly behind her. She leaned against the wooden door, collecting her thoughts. She felt awash with disappointment. What had she expected? Did she really believe Edward would return to London and call on her as soon as he arrived in the city? Foolish girl. She shook her head in an attempt to disburse such thoughts from her mind. She suddenly realised she had not seen Louisa for the last four days. How had she not noticed this usual absence previously?
Taking a seat upon the settee, she simply waited. Within a moment a flurry of activity and noise could be heard from the hall. The parlour door burst open and Louisa entered the room mid conversation.
"Yes, but I have told you Mrs Marks, I am a particular friend of Miss de Bourgh's and she will always allow me attendance, is that not the case my dear Anne." Without even drawing breath Louisa continued to talk until she seated herself opposite Anne.
"Oh, is that not the most charming of dresses, do I see fresh lace work on those sleeves, Anne you are such a clever thing with a needle and thread. If only I could be half so clever with a needle, I should be able to make my own lace anew. It is so becoming!"
"Mrs Marks would you be so kind as to bring us a fresh pot of tea?" Anne smiled towards the house keeper as she backed out the room. Turning her attention to Louisa, Anne smiled as her friend continued to chatter at great speed about everything and nothing. Anne was most certain she would be needing something warm and soothing to help her through; it was neither wonder Mr Hurst was so fond of the sauce.