Author's Note: Three papers, two exams and one presentation later, the semester is done and I am free! That was literally the worst finals week I've ever had—thank you all so much for your patience, and your incredibly encouraging reviews (so glad you're all enjoying this!). I did have a very merry Christmas with my family, and I hope I'm not the only one. Happy holidays to those who are/were/will be celebrating!
Thus Anne's time in Bath entered a period of relative ease and satisfaction. Her appointment with Dr. Hart, which occurred two days after her visit with his children, was conducted with none of the awkwardness which she had feared; Dr. Hart was amiable yet professional, making no mention of Anne's visit to his home (if he even knew of it) and inciting Mrs. Jenkinson's indignation only once, when he informed Miss de Bourgh that his family sent their very warmest wishes.
"As though Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park could have any care for the warm wishes of a tradesman's offspring," Mrs. Jenkinson sniffed.
"I am sure Dr. Hart was only being polite," Anne said. "Besides, Mr. Hart's family are really all very amiable, for all their low birth and connexions, and I do wish you wouldn't abuse them so."
Mrs. Jenkinson's eyes narrowed, and Anne bit her tongue. "Although I have only met with Miss Hart and her brothers once or twice, at the Pump-room," she added hurriedly.
This, of course, was not entirely true. Anne had indeed met the Harts only a few times within the confines of the Pump-room; outside of the Pump-room, the number of their meetings was slowly reaching ever higher. Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson had fallen into the regular practice of Mrs. Jenkinson's settling herself in a café or coffee-shop while Anne browsed the shops, and away from her companion's watchful eye, Anne encountered the Hart twins and Miss Juliet twice more in Mostyn's, and even walked a short way with Mr. Hart one afternoon when they met, by chance, in Milsom Street, all within the span of one week.
The geniality of their company had managed, by now, to chase all thoughts of rank and dignity out of Anne's head, and though she and Miss Rosamond had not Christian-named one another, nor declared their undying sisterly devotion, or made any of the other symbols of friendship which Anne had read about but never experienced—though none of these things had occurred, Anne was quite certain that her relationship with Dr. Hart's children had reached a point for which Lady Catherine, were she cognizant of the facts, would surely denounce her. Though she knew it was very wrong, Anne could not help finding a small guilty delight in this realization. She wished she could visit the Harts more frequently, as she was able to visit her more suitable acquaintance; but her mother would certainly not allow it, and Mrs. Jenkinson would certainly tell her. Anne determined to form a plan to remove these obstacles; yet for now, she forced herself to be satisfied with occasional meetings, and the undeniable enjoyment these meetings brought her.
Lady Catherine would indeed have been horrified at the relationship forming between Anne and the Hart family; yet she seemed quite pleased to send Anne out into the city on the arm of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was called upon to visit with increasing frequency. Anne supposed that her cousin's familiarity with a good deal of wealthy, eligible men of excellent family made him quite a valuable attendant for her, in her Ladyship's eyes, and she did not protest. Colonel Fitzwilliam was eternally jovial, a man of fine conversation and cheerful wit; moreover, Anne rather preferred his friends to her mother's. The young ladies and gentlemen of his acquaintance (many of them officers and their wives and sisters) were perhaps not all so high-born as Lady Catherine should have liked; but they were pleasant and kind, and often made an effort to include Anne in their conversations. For the first time in her life, Anne was finding herself less inclined to anxiety when faced with the prospect of meeting someone new, and was even bold enough to greet Miss Finch, Colonel Fitzwilliam's most frequent companion, when she saw her walking alone in Saville Row one morning. The two young ladies enjoyed a pleasant walk together, and Anne felt thoroughly proud of herself.
Lady Catherine had furthermore not forgotten her intentions to usher her daughter into an acquaintance with the fashionable daughters of her own fashionable friends; and so Anne spent several afternoons and evenings sitting in drawing-rooms with young ladies of excellent family and fortune, but possessing generally less honest sympathy than the acquaintances she had been forming on her own.
She was rather distressed to find herself addressed increasingly as "dear Anne" by Miss Hammond, who tended to take Anne's silences and vague nods as an agreement to whatever she had been declaring (Miss Hammond was much like Lady Catherine, in that she was for-ever declaring things, rather than simply saying them). Furthermore, Miss Hargreve had apparently decided that Anne was to be her confidant on all things sartorial—a favorite area of conversation for Miss Hargreve—and Anne began to worry that she possessed a more complete knowledge of Miss Hargreve's wardrobe than her own. The Miss Dillinghams appeared to have adopted Anne as their own special sort of pet, and began commandeering her for walks, each of them taking one of her arms and chattering to her at the same time, so that she never had any idea whom she was meant to be listening to. (Yet they were more agreeable than most of Anne's wealthy acquaintance, and she did not mind their meetings much at all, for there was something cheering about their continual prattle.)
Dr. Hart arrived for his fourth weekly visit on the day that marked Anne's first full month in Bath. He took his usual measurements, examined Anne for any sign of fever or weakness, and asked her his usual questions, to which her answers were far more positive than they had ever been before. "Well, Miss de Bourgh," the physician said finally, sitting back in his chair, "you seem happier than I have yet seen you, and your complexion has gained a good deal of healthy color; I declare you seem to me to be quite well indeed. Have you any specific complaints of which you have not informed me—any strange aches or pains?"
Responding in the negative, Anne cast a glance at her nurse, who had adopted her accustomed cold stare as soon as the doctor had entered. "Mrs. Jenkinson," she said, "be so good as to fetch my cotton shawl from my room. This cashmere is far too warm for the fire."
"Should you prefer me to move the screen closer?" Mrs. Jenkinson inquired.
"I should prefer you to do as I ask, and fetch my cotton shawl," Anne repeated firmly. "The position of the screen will not make a difference."
"I am sure, madam, that you will find—"
"My cotton shawl, please," Anne repeated, summoning every bit of the Lady Catherine in her. Mrs. Jenkinson stared at her for a moment, then curtsied and excused herself. Anne waited until she had heard the lady's footsteps depart along the hallway before turning back to Dr. Hart, who looked amused. Anne could not help noticing how much his smile resembled his son's.
"I assume you have some very private matter to discuss with me, Miss de Bourgh, or you would not have gone to such trouble just then," was the physician's invitation. Anne flushed.
"I merely wanted to ask, Dr. Hart, if—if you pay house-calls to all of your patients."
"Not all, Miss de Bourgh; generally only to some of my regular patients, such as yourself, and those with more serious conditions. There are a great deal of patients whom I see only when they visit, and who visit only when they have some specific ailment; indeed, many of my regular patients prefer to visit me rather than vice versa—something to do with obtaining fresh air, I believe." He eyed her curiously. "May I ask the purpose for this question?"
"Do you think," Anne said slowly, "that I might be—that is, that it might be more convenient for us both, if I were to visit you from now on?"
Now Dr. Hart's eyebrows rose, and Anne flushed deeper red. It had been a foolish idea, she realized.
"I can see, Miss de Bourgh, how such an arrangement would certainly be more convenient for me," Dr. Hart said finally, "but as to its convenience to yourself, I confess I am quite perplexed. Widcombe is not at all handy to your lodgings here, and surely it would be no small task for you to travel all that way every week just to see me."
Anne opened her mouth, but the physician held up his hand and, almost without realizing she did so, Anne closed her mouth again.
"Unless, of course, I was not truly the reason for your visit," Dr. Hart went on, eyes twinkling. Seized by sudden paranoia, Anne glanced about the room, as though her mother or Mrs. Jenkinson might be concealed beneath the settee. "You must know, Miss de Bourgh, that my daughter Rosamond has spoken of you. She is quite determined to be your friend, and I must warn you that when Rosamond is determined, not even the king himself could stand in her way."
Anne could not help the smile that lit her face at the doctor's words.
"As to my other children, I believe they are quite fond of you themselves, and would not be at all averse to seeing you more often. I believe you may even do them some good, Miss de Bourgh," he added drily, "for you possess the virtues of calm and quiet, in which my children are severely lacking. Therefore, if you should prefer to pay a weekly visit to Hart House—solely for the benefit of your health, you understand—then I suppose it could be far more convenient for every body involved. As I believe my daughter has already informed you, Miss de Bourgh, you are quite welcome with us." He smiled kindly at her.
Anne could not stop smiling. That Dr. Hart should understand so well, she had not expected, and before she knew what she was doing she had seized his hand and was shaking it in a rather foolish gesture.
"Thank you very much, sir," she said quietly.
He waved his hand. "Not at all, Miss de Bourgh; I believe you are in a very difficult position, given your—excuse me—social status, compared to mine and that of my family, and I quite agree that your mother would certainly not condone your calling on my children, or their calling on you, however fond you happened to be of each other. Of course," he added, "this arrangement must be explained to her Ladyship, or my agreement will be meaningless."
Anne had not thought of this, but had been so successful in convincing Lady Catherine of just about everything thus far that she did not foresee a terrible difficulty in convincing her of the merits of a weekly journey. That it would give Anne, and the fine coach bearing the de Bourgh family crescent, an opportunity to be seen—that Anne had learned that most of Dr. Hart's finest clientele refused to be visited at home, and insisted upon appointments in the doctor's private office—that it would prevent Dr. Hart obtaining ideas above his station—that it was not proper to have service-men constantly visiting the house, where they might interact with regular guests—one of these was sure to appeal to her Ladyship, and Anne gave the matter no more thought as Mrs. Jenkinson reappeared, bearing the cotton shawl, and Dr. Hart concluded the appointment.
He was taking his leave when the Lady herself swept into the room, an expression of severe discontent upon her face. "Anne," she barked, "I desire you will—" She caught sight of Dr. Hart, who was pulling on his riding-coat, and treated him to an icy glare. "Sir," she snapped, "my daughter and I have exceedingly important and private affairs to discuss, and I desire you will remove yourself this instant."
Dr. Hart showed no affront at this ill treatment; he bowed once to Lady Catherine and once to Anne, before striding out through the grand doors. Lady Catherine watched him go, before she settled broodingly onto her accustomed armchair.
"All is well, your Ladyship," Anne said meekly; "Dr. Hart was merely here for my weekly appointment—it is Thursday, you know."
"I know what day it is, Anne, and I will not have you speaking to me as though I am an imbecile," her Ladyship retorted. A dark silence fell.
"Is anything wrong, mother?" Anne asked finally.
"A good deal is wrong, Anne; do you know what I have just heard?" She did not wait for a response. "Colonel Fitzwilliam has had a letter from his cousin, informing him that he and his wife will be arriving in Bath this Saturday, and taking lodgings here—lodgings! They are to remain for a prolonged amount of time, apparently, enjoying all of the pleasures Bath has to offer. As though they would not do everyone a great favor by staying where they belong! I declare it is an outrage—I am most seriously displeased!"
This news did indeed appear to be causing Lady Catherine the utmost displeasure, but Anne, who did not know any of Colonel Fitzwilliam's other cousins, could not see why her mother should be so distressed by the news that they were to visit the city. "To which cousin are you referring, ma'am?" she asked timidly. Lady Catherine fixed her with a fierce frown.
"To Darcy, Anne—what other cousins of his should we be concerned with? Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are shortly arriving in Bath, with Miss Darcy in tow, I understand, as though their coming by themselves were not insult enough!"
Anne froze. The thought of meeting with Mr. Darcy had always given her a slight pang of anxiety, for he was hardly as agreeable as Colonel Fitzwilliam and, quite frankly, his stony countenance had always had the effect of making her feel rather more helpless and incompetent than even she, once the eternal invalid, had any right to feel.
That he would now be coming with his wife complicated matters even further, for it must be no secret to Mrs. Darcy that she had taken Anne's position, and though Anne was rather relieved not to have married Mr. Darcy (for it would have been a miserable marriage—she could see that now, even if her mother could not, for in Bath Anne had at last met gentlemen whose company she actually enjoyed), the embarrassment of being supplanted by such a woman still remained. At any rate, she had not liked Elizabeth Bennet when she had met her, and did not think it likely she would like her now. Colonel Fitzwilliam had spoken quite warmly of the lady on a few occasions, when he and Anne were safe from Lady Catherine's careful ears; and now it occurred to Anne that Mrs. Darcy's reported wit and vivacity might very well have the effect of stealing Colonel Fitzwilliam's attention away from Anne, who possessed neither of those things. Her heart sank, and she suddenly wished very much that such a person as Elizabeth Bennet had never been born.
"—And they expect me to greet them, I imagine! They expect me to give Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire her grand entrance into society, to introduce her to all the noble ladies and gentlemen of my acquaintance, as though she is at all their equal! And poor Georgiana, who I imagine has been utterly ruined by Elizabeth Bennet's influence, I daresay we will find her a very changed creature, Anne. No, I am determined that I shall give the Darcys no notice at all; no invitations, no letters of welcome, no calls; and if you see any of them, Anne, I insist that you cut them that instant, for they well deserve to be slighted in front of every body."
Anne did not think she had the courage to cut anyone, especially the impressive Mr. Darcy; but she was too distracted by her own thoughts to make any argument (which would not have been heard, at any rate) and promised to do so.
Lady Catherine seemed slightly appeased, though the mere thought of the Darcys breathing the same Bath air was enough to incense her further, and she went on repeating her resolve to utterly ignore her nephew's presence in Bath, and the presence of all his family, and to insist to every body that they were no longer acquainted.
Indeed, despite her determination to have nothing to do with them, the Darcys were the only topic that concerned Lady Catherine for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, and indeed, despite Anne's delicate attempt to change the subject, they were the only thing she would condescend to discuss. "What reason have I to speak of pastry-shops, Anne?" Lady Catherine demanded, when Anne mentioned that Mr. Shapcott had assured her that Molland's, in Milsom Street, was the finest pastry-shop in the city. "The Darcys are arriving here within two days, and we must be prepared to disregard them completely. Have you heard nothing I have been saying?"
Defeated, Anne remained silent under her mother's declarations; she was distressed, but not perhaps so distressed as her Ladyship would have liked her to be. Really, Anne reasoned, the Darcys had done her no great injury and—she would not dare tell her mother—if she was to count among her friends the daughter of a physician, then she could hardly criticize her cousin for choosing to marry the daughter of a country gentleman, however irksome and insolent that lady might be. It was only the probable loss of Colonel Fitzwilliam that worried her, for Anne could not think it likely that he would find her company very interesting at all anymore, with his dear friends so convenient.
Yet her sleep that night was troubled, and she awoke much more ill-disposed towards her cousin's family. For some reason, the image, ridiculous and improbable as it was, of Elizabeth Darcy laughing, talking, and smiling with Theodore Hart, had continuously chased Anne through her dreams.
She visited the Pump-room on the following afternoon, Mrs. Jenkinson in tow but shortly discarded in favor of the Miss Dillinghams, whom she met in the vestibule, and Miss Finch, who arrived a short while later and hurried over to sit with them. The Pump-room was bustling; Anne was not the sort of young lady who habitually perused the visitor's book, but one of the Miss Dillinghams assured her that it looked as though every body in Bath had been in at least once that day. Anne found herself quite content to sit and watch the promenade, drinking the small cup of water which Mrs. Jenkinson had procured for her and listening to the chatter of her companions. Bath really was much pleasanter, she reflected, when one had connexions there.
"Miss de Bourgh," Miss Finch exclaimed suddenly, "Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me your shared cousin Mr. Darcy is coming to Bath, with his sister and his new bride! You must tell us every thing you can about Mrs. Darcy, for I have heard so many rumors. Every body is talking about her; she is the most fascinating thing to happen here since—since the Dalyrmples' ball!"
"Is she really the daughter of a farmer?" Miss Dillingham demanded. "I heard her father works on the estate of one of Mr. Darcy's friends, and that is how they became acquainted; but I cannot believe it."
"I heard that she has eight sisters," the other Miss Dillingham declared. "Eight sisters, and all of them married! Her mamma must be very pleased indeed."
Anne pursed her lips. Elizabeth Darcy had disturbed her dreams last night, and she was certainly the last person she had any desire to discuss to-day; yet the ladies were all looking at her so expectantly, and Anne was suddenly conscious of being in the position of the informed purveyor of gossip, rather than the ill-informed listener who had no idea what any body else was talking about. It was a position she had never occupied before, and she found herself rather enjoying it.
"Her father is a gentleman," she replied, "and I believe he owns some land, and has several tenants. I am quite sure she has only four sisters, and only two are married, not counting herself."
Her listeners looked quite disappointed with this sensible, pedestrian reply.
"Although," Anne added hurriedly, for now that she had some body's attention she did not want to lose it, "I understand there was some scandal with her youngest sister's marriage.—My neighbor Mr. Collins is Mrs. Darcy's cousin, and his wife is her intimate friend, for they both grew up in the same village in Hertfordshire, and played together as children. The Collinses heard from Mrs. Darcy herself that her youngest sister—I cannot recall the name—ran away from home with a gentleman, intending to go directly to Gretna Green to be married."
The Miss Dillinghams leaned forward eagerly.
"But the gentleman was of course hardly a gentleman at all, and instead they stopped in London, where they lived together for some days before they were discovered by Mrs. Darcy's uncle."
"Lord!" breathed one of the Miss Dillinghams.
"Indeed," Anne said confidently. "Of course they were forced into a marriage, for I understand they had been—" She lowered her voice and leaned closer, suddenly aware that they were in a public space. "I understand that they had been sharing not only a room, but a bed."
The young ladies gasped and giggled, as well-brought-up young ladies tend to do when provided with a particularly salacious rumor. "And what's more," Anne went on, "I heard there was some suspicion that Mrs. Darcy's sister was—expecting. Before their marriage, I mean."
This, of course, was untrue, for Anne had heard no such thing; yet it provided the perfect ending to the story, for the Miss Dillinghams leaned away again with exclamations of satisfaction.
"What a fine tale!" one of them cried, laughing eagerly. "I suppose then that Mrs. Darcy is quite ambitious—eager to pull her own name out of the mud."
"Indeed, and I am sure we shall find her perfectly vulgar," her sister agreed delightedly. "Poor Mr. Darcy! Such a handsome gentleman; it is a shame he has been fooled by such a creature."
The young ladies were so thrilled with the anticipation of meeting such an amusingly offensive woman that they rose before long and joined the promenade, too excited to sit still any longer. They had not been gone for more than a minute before Miss Finch, who had remained unexpectedly silent throughout the exchange, took the seat closest to Anne.
"I imagine, Miss de Bourgh," she said disapprovingly, "that that is the sort of story which Mrs. Darcy should not have liked told; and I wonder that you could have been so thoughtless as to tell it to the two silliest busybodies in all of Bath."
Anne turned to her in surprise, for Miss Finch was hardly in a position to scold any body else for gossiping; yet she could not help feeling rather guilty all the same. She shook it off; this was not like the insults that had been lodged against the Hart family during the ball. This was merely a harmless bit of gossip, which every body surely knew already, and, if Anne was honest with herself, the thought of Elizabeth Darcy's mortification was significantly less painful to her than the thought of Rosamond Hart's.
"I daresay it will do her no harm," she said airly. "No body listens to any thing the Miss Dillinghams say."
"It was not the Miss Dillinghams who said it," Miss Finch replied. "And even if Mrs. Darcy's reputation is unharmed, you must realize that hearing the story repeated would wound her feelings considerably. She would be very embarrassed."
"I have met Mrs. Darcy, Miss Finch," Anne said, "and I can tell you very well that a bit of embarrassment would do her good, for she is quite proud and very impertinent."
Miss Finch could not contest this point, having never met the lady herself, and only repeated that Anne would do well to be more careful with her knowledge, before moving on to a less contentious topic. The Miss Dillinghams returned, full of new gossip about whom they had seen promenading together and who looked to be quarrelling and who looked to be quizzing, and the sociable peace of the afternoon was somewhat restored. Anne, however, was not so easy; as the four ladies rose again to walk, she was quite certain she heard the name "Darcy" spoken by nearly every passing party.
That evening was spent at the Godard lodgings, where Miss Godard regaled the small party with several very well-played songs, and Lady Catherine regaled them with a loud monologue on her own superb musical taste, and that of her daughter. Anne, who had never been encouraged to take any real interest in music, was content to offer her own, quieter compliments to Miss Godard for her fine performance, before settling into her accustomed silence. Mr. Godard dared to mention Mr. Darcy's name once, but Lady Catherine proclaimed, "I have no desire to speak of my sister's son.—I take no interest in his doings, nor his whereabouts, and have determined not to see him while he is here in Bath."
Rather than curtailing any interest the Godards might have had in the relationship between the Darcys and the de Bourghs, this assertion instead had the effect of rousing it further, for Mrs. Godard was eternally delighted by family scandals, and collected them the way other ladies collected china plates or flower-vases. Yet Lady Catherine was impressive enough to frighten the Godards into at least temporary silence, while Mrs. Godard privately decided to procure her information from other sources. Surely some body in Bath must know why Lady Catherine was so disgruntled towards her nephew.
The de Bourghs left the Godards quite early, Lady Catherine claiming to have a head-ache, and indeed she retired the minute they arrived home. Anne, however, was not so tired, and sat alone by the fire for an hour, ostensibly engrossed in her needlework. The following day would bring the Darcys, and although her Ladyship had continuously assured Anne that they were to have nothing to do with that family, they already seemed to be everywhere, for every body seemed to want to talk about them—particularly about Mrs. Darcy. Anne wondered if she and her mother had been this interesting before they arrived; she could not imagine it.
She sighed. It was unfair, she thought bitterly, that as soon as she was becoming truly comfortable in Bath, as soon as she was beginning to settle herself among acquaintances and even friends, some body like Elizabeth Darcy must arrive and spoil everything. She could not regret telling the Miss Dillinghams the story of Mrs. Darcy's youngest sister, for she knew that Mrs. Darcy would be wiling every thing away from Anne as soon as she arrived in Bath, just as she had wiled away Mr. Darcy. No body would have any concern or consideration for Anne de Bourgh, with the charming Mrs. Darcy making her appearance in every drawing-room, at every ball, at every dining-table. The Pump-room and Assembly Rooms would be filled with her; Anne would disappear. This, she thought, might have been the most attractive option to the timid invalid Anne of Rosings Park—yet the increasingly self-assured Anne of the Royal Crescent, who had been growing accustomed to having places to go and people to see, could not bear to fade into the background again.
Dr. Hart's easy understanding of her desire to have a more regular acquaintance with his family had been a relief to her, and now, in the face of the approaching Mrs. Darcy, Hart House seemed to take on the significance of a sanctuary. What connexion could exist between a physician's family and the Darcys of Pemberley? Anne supposed she must be prepared to see Elizabeth Darcy every place she went, or at least to hear her spoken of, and she must—she sighed again—be prepared to surrender Colonel Fitzwilliam's agreeable company to the far more engaging Mrs. Darcy. But Hart House and its inhabitants, at least, would surely remain Anne's own territory, no matter what her dreams had suggested.
She set her needlework aside with a violence that startled Mrs. Jenkinson, who had been dozing. "Are you well, Miss de Bourgh?" the nurse asked hurriedly.
"Quite well," Anne said shortly. "Only a little tired. Good-night, Mrs. Jenkinson."
Anne was not tired, and she lay awake for a very long time, before at last falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.
