Author's note: I couldn't keep this one from you; I was impatient to get here myself, hence my forgoing much homework in order to finish it! Thank you all so much for your lovely lovely reviews—it makes me unutterably happy to hear from everybody, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying reading this, as I absolutely love writing it. Let me know what you think? I'm a little nervous… ;)


The following week revealed nothing more of Lady Catherine's plans for Anne's marriage, and Anne was beginning to despair of ever receiving a further clue. Her Ladyship had not mentioned the subject of Anne's marriage again, and indeed appeared to have forgotten entirely, though Anne knew her mother too well to expect such an easy end to the matter. She herself was quite restless, examining the behavior of every gentleman in her acquaintance in hopes of deciphering her mother's words. Mr. Hart had advised her to look harder; but Anne, no matter how hard she looked, could discover no appearance of preference or tender feelings in any gentleman's manner towards her, and decided that the fault must be on her mother's side entirely.

She did not allow the absence of a suitor to disturb her; indeed, she was rather thankful that she was not forced to listen to some inspid lover reciting odes to her eyes or any thing of the kind. As Anne herself was not in love with any of the gentlemen of her acquaintance, she did not mind overmuch that they were not in love with her, for an imbalance of affection on one side would surely have created an unbearable awkwardness.

And so Anne's life continued as it had before, uninterrupted by Lady Catherine's predicted proposal. She promenaded in the Pump-room with Miss Finch and the Miss Dillinghams; she met the Miss Harts at Mostyn's book-shop; she dined at the Royal Crescent with her mother and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and in company with the Hargreves, Godards, Hammonds and Wentworths. She met the Darcys a few times more, though always in a large assembly, with opportunity for no further interaction than a polite greeting (which suited Anne quite well).

Mr. Hart had expressed a hope that he and Anne should meet again before her usual weekly appointment with his father, but Anne saw only his sisters during the course of the week, and then only rather fleetingly; for Miss Cates was by, and seemed anxious to be rid of Anne's company. Anne was not so hurt by this as she might otherwise have been, for she had privately decided that she quite disliked Miss Adele Cates and could care nothing for that young lady's opinion. She was also gratified to note that Rosamond parted from her with real regret, and extracted a promise from Anne that she should surely visit on Thursday.

And so Thursday brought Anne, as promised, to Hart House, where she was shown into the sitting room after a brief examination by Dr. Hart. Anne had suggested that these examinations were no longer necessary, given the improvement in her health which Bath's healing waters had wrought; yet the physician was unwilling to accept payment for a service which he did not perform, and, given Mrs. Jenkinson's and Lady Catherine's charges that Anne suffered from a chronic illness, was even more unwilling to risk her wellbeing for the sake of convenience.

Yet he had seen nothing amiss, nor had Anne reported any complaints, for indeed she had none; thus, she was shown into the sitting-room with very little ado, where she found Miss Rosamond engrossed in a novel. (She was rather disappointed that Mr. Hart was not present, though the lack of Miss Cates almost made up for his absence.)

"My dear Miss Anne," Miss Rosamond exclaimed, setting her book aside. "How glad I am that you have come, for I have been hoping to share with you my latest literary discovery. Have you read this one? It is called The Widow's Secret, and is quite fascinating."

Anne replied that she had not, but studied the book with some interest, for she had found that Rosamond (as far as she was concerned) had excellent taste in reading material. "You have only just begun," Anne observed, "and so we must discuss it again when you have finished, so that I may know your final judgment."

"I am sure we shall have that opportunity," Miss Rosamond declared, smiling. "Have you read any thing of interest lately?"

"I have had very little time for reading," Anne admitted. "I have just begun The Forbidden Room, which promises to be very thrilling, but I confess I am not moving through it as quickly as I could hope.—It is only to be expected, I suppose, for I find that life moves much more quickly here in Bath, than it does at Rosings Park; or it seems to, at any rate."

"Life moves quickly," Miss Rosamond repeated, with a curious musing tone. Then, fixing her large eyes on Anne, she asked, "Is that why Theo instructed me to ask you whether you were by now engaged to be married?"

Anne sat stunned for a moment, and quite mortified; she recovered herself as rapidly as she could, though she was unable to escape the deep blush which covered her features, and replied stiffly, "I had not expected Mr. Hart to repeat the particulars of that conversation."

To her relief, Miss Rosamond laughed. "He has not repeated any particulars," she assured her friend; "He has merely given me the instruction, without telling me the why or the wherefore. Pray make yourself easy, Miss Anne, for you have no cause to be embarrassed."

"It was a rather silly discussion we had," Anne confessed; and, to avoid further embarrassment, she provided Miss Rosamond with an hurried outline of the conversation, restricting herself to repeating only the puzzle she had posed to Mr. Hart, and his response to it.

"That explains his impertinence, then," Rosamond decided, amused. "But Miss de Bourgh," and here her voice took on a teasing note, "you have not yet told me, what answer I am to give my brother. Has this unknown gentleman made himself known—has he proposed?"

"I am sorry to disappoint Mr. Hart," Anne replied solemnly, "but no proposal has been made to me, and I have concluded that my mother has been much mistaken."

"I do not think it will be a very great disappointment to him," Rosamond answered, though her gaze was once more upon The Widow's Secret, and a moment later she turned the conversation to novels again. Anne could not tell what was meant by her friend's words, nor by the abrupt change of subject, and sat for a moment in some confusion, before she was able to make any intelligent response to her friend's remarks on whether Gothic or Romantic novels were the more satisfying.

They sat together for a very pleasant half-hour, Anne enjoying the increasingly rare experience of having Miss Rosamond all to herself, with no Miss Cates to demand her friend's attention. Yet she was soon obliged to take her leave, for fear of arousing Mrs. Jenkinson's worry or, worse, her suspicion. Miss Rosamond, ever the hostess, walked with Anne to the vestibule, where they stood talking for some minutes more as Anne secured her spencer and bonnet against the spring winds.

It was at this moment that the door of Dr. Hart's study opened, and the doctor himself emerged, escorting the last person whom Anne had expected, or wished, to meet with, within the confines of Hart House. Elizabeth Darcy's eyes were exceedingly bright, her cheeks rather flushed, and she was smiling for all the world; she caught Anne's gaze with some surprise, and the two ladies immediately dropped into their curtsies.

"Mrs. Darcy," Anne murmured, feeling the familiar irritation creep up inside her.

"Miss de Bourgh!" Mrs. Darcy cried, with what Anne thought was truly suspect enthusiasm. "What a very pleasant surprise, to meet you here; I hope you are not ill?"

"I am very well," Anne answered. She was for a moment rather surprised at the question, before she recalled that she was, in fact, in the home of a physician. "Mine was a social visit; I was just taking my leave." Perhaps she should not have mentioned the circumstances of her visit; yet Mrs. Darcy did not seem to have heard, or if she had, the words had had no impact on her.

"What a happy coincidence, for I am leaving as well," Mrs. Darcy exclaimed. She gazed about the vestibule for a moment, as though lost in thought, before her eyes met Anne's again. "Shall we walk together?"

"I—" Anne glanced at Rosamond, who merely smiled. "Certainly," she answered, suppressing a sigh. Mrs. Darcy's uncommonly fine spirits made the idea of her company no less disconcerting; indeed, Anne found Mrs. Darcy more perplexing than ever, at the present moment.

Thus the two ladies took their leave of Dr. Hart and his daughter, and emerged from Hart House together, in a silence that Anne thought quite uncomfortable, but which Mrs. Darcy appeared not to notice. From the Hart's gate, Anne turned her steps towards town, where her maid and Mrs. Jenkinson were waiting; yet Mrs. Darcy quite unexpectedly took her arm and pulled her to a stop.

"Forgive me, Miss de Bourgh," she said, meeting Anne's startled glance. "I find I cannot bear the thought of sitting my carriage, just now; may we walk a little ways together?"

Her eyes and smile were so bright, that Anne, however ill at ease she may have been at the moment, found herself unwilling to argue. "There is a small walking-park, just there," she said, indicating the little park behind Hart House. "Shall we take a turn?"

"That sounds lovely," Mrs. Darcy declared, and so they set off for the walking-park, still in silence.

They had walked together for some minutes before Mrs. Darcy at last turned to Anne. "I am sorry to inconvenience you, Miss de Bourgh; I am sure you wish very much to be at home. Yet I am so happy!"

"I trust you are well, then?" Anne said, for it was all she could think to say.

"I am very well, Miss de Bourgh," Mrs. Darcy assured her, beaming. "I must—may I tell you? I am very sorry, but I must tell some body. I had suspected for some time, but Dr. Hart has just confirmed—that I am expecting." She bit her lip as she made this pronouncement, and looked, to Anne's alarm, quite uncharacteristically joyful.

In response to her companion's obvious elation, Anne gave Mrs. Darcy a broad smile, and exclaimed her heartfelt congratulations. She was not certain what else was required of her; the situation was wholly unfamiliar, and distant family or no, she could not tell what degree of enthusiasm she was meant to express. Yet Mrs. Darcy seemed quite satisfied with her reaction and, to Anne's relief, made no attempts to embrace her, or to burst into happy tears upon Anne's shoulder, or any other displays of unwarranted endearment, which she had heard young ladies of Mrs. Darcy's condition were disposed to. Instead, they fell into a rather more comfortable silence, and continued walking. Mrs. Darcy appeared to regain much of her customary composure after a few minutes more, though she seemed helpless to stop a smile from spreading across her face, and was able to speak again with rather more equanimity.

"Miss de Bourgh," she began, looking as though she were considering something very deeply, "have you any objection to my speaking freely?"

Anne was at a loss as to what Elizabeth Darcy could wish to speak freely to her about, but assured the lady that she had no objection.

"You are being exceedingly obliging just now," Mrs. Darcy continued, "and it is very much appreciated. Yet I hope you will not take offense if I say that you are perhaps the last person I should have expected to share this news with, particularly as you are the first, besides myself, to know."

"I am not offended," Anne replied mildly.

"I am glad of it. I fear, Miss de Bourgh," Mrs. Darcy continued, rather slowly, "that I have been rather mistaken, with regard to my past judgment of you; and I am in the habit of correcting my mistakes. I am afraid I have been rather prejudiced, and perhaps unkind."

"I am sorry to hear it; yet, Mrs. Darcy," Anne ventured hesitantly, "you have only ever been polite to me, as I hope I have been to you."

"My thoughts have not always matched my behavior," Mrs. Darcy admitted. "I mean only to say, Miss de Bourgh, that I was prejudiced against you before we ever met, from the account which I had had of you from Mr. Collins, and—I am very ashamed to admit—from the circumstance of your being formerly engaged to Mr. Darcy."

At these words, Anne could not help but flinch slightly, and Mrs. Darcy turned to her. "Excuse me," she said quickly. "I ought not to have mentioned it."

"No, no," Anne insisted. "I hope you do not think me wounded by your reference to my past engagement, if such it can be called, nor jealous that you have married the man my mother chose for me; for I have come to see, Mrs. Darcy, that you are a far more fitting wife to him than I could ever have been."

"There was a time when I did not think so," Mrs. Darcy said softly, with a little smile, as though recalling some thing amusing to her.

"But it is true; do you not see? You love him, and I never could; and what is more, he loves you, as he certainly could never have loved me. You are well-suited to one another, while he and I have nothing in common, and no attachment between us." Anne smiled ruefully. "I confess I envy your having found such a partner; but I do not envy you Mr. Darcy himself."

"I am glad of it," Mrs. Darcy repeated. They turned back along the path, and walked in silence for some moments, before Anne ventured to speak again.

"But may I ask, Mrs. Darcy," Anne said carefully, "why you have revised your opinion of me, and why you are speaking of the matter now?"

Mrs. Darcy was silent for a moment. "I have no very clear reason," she said at last. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, since we have been in Bath, has talked of your amiability and your compassion, and I have a great respect for that gentleman as a judge of character, though of course," she went on, her eyes twinkling, "we do not always agree. Besides which, the kindness you have shown to Georgiana, whenever we have met, does you a great deal of credit. I believe, Miss de Bourgh, that I am simply seeing you through new eyes, now that we are thrown together more often, and under different circumstances."

"Thank you," Anne replied, feeling rather warm in spite of herself. Mrs. Darcy smiled at her.

"I know you have no very great opinion of me," she said, with a little laugh. "And I am sure I have given you provocation for dislike, whether I am aware of it or no. I am sorry if I have ever offended you, or been unkind."

Anne returned her companion's smile, though she did not disagree; for indeed, she could think of no way to verbalize her feelings toward Mrs. Darcy, without sounding unforgivably impolite and, it must be professed, rather unreasonable. Yet Mrs. Darcy's present kindness, the air of openness which currently existed between them, rather lessened her irritation with that lady, and produced in her certain inklings of guilt, where there had been almost none before. Mrs. Darcy, she reflected, had only ever been polite, if sometimes rather impertinent; she had never outwardly treated Anne with spite, or any thing of the kind, however uncharitable her thoughts may have been. Taking a deep breath, Anne strengthened her resolve, and steeled herself for her coming admission, which she was certain she would regret if she left it unsaid.

"I must confess, Mrs. Darcy," Anne began carefully, and quite apprehensively, "that I have not always acted in a fitting manner, where you are concerned.—I am very sorry to say, that I foolishly related a rumor which I had heard, regarding your family; and out of little motive other than malice."

There was silence between them. "You refer, I think, to my youngest sister's elopement," Mrs. Darcy said finally.

"I do."

It was a long moment before Mrs. Darcy replied. "I had found that the story was known here, much to my mortification," she said slowly, "for as you must be aware, it is not a part of my family's history which gives me any pleasure to recall. I had thought, perhaps, that Lady Catherine had circulated the story…I had not considered that you could be the culprit," she mused.

"I am sorry to have done it, for it gave me no pleasure at all," Anne admitted, all in rush, for fear her nerve would fail her. "I was jealous, Mrs. Darcy; I suppose, since we are now speaking freely to one another, that I am obliged to admit to it. Bath, you must understand, is all new to me; society is all new to me. Now is the first time in my life, when I have had friends and acquaintances to meet, and people to visit; and I was dreadfully afraid that your arrival would—would take them all away, somehow. I had heard so much from Colonel Fitzwilliam of your charm, and your agreeableness, that I was afraid of being—outshone. It all sounds excessively stupid now," she added regretfully. "I suppose I am really nothing more than a child. I am sorry for any pain I have caused you."

"I am sorry for it, as well, for it did cause some pain to myself, and to certain others, whose involvement in the fact I am not at liberty to make explicit," Mrs. Darcy replied at last. "I wish you had not mentioned it to any body; but I am thankful for your honesty." They had nearly reached the entrance to the park. "That you have admitted your mistake, and apologized for it, is to your credit, particularly as you are under no obligation to me for any thing. I suppose we have misjudged one another from the start, Miss de Bourgh, and been needlessly unkind because of it. Yet," she added, her smile growing again, "I must confess that I am too happy to-day, for any thing to bother me. What a joy this is!"

Anne's relief surprised her, and she was suddenly, unexpectedly, grateful to Mrs. Darcy, for her forgiveness and understanding. They returned to the street again, and from thence to the town, where Mrs. Darcy met her carriage and Anne met her maid.

"I am very glad that we have discussed matters so sincerely, Miss de Bourgh," Mrs. Darcy declared, as they parted. "I suppose we are not friends, in spite of this beneficial conversation. But perhaps we may, some day, be able to call one another as such."

"I do not think it impossible," Anne replied, curtsying. "My deepest congratulations, again, Mrs. Darcy, for your happy news, and my best wishes to your family."

Mrs. Darcy gave one last curtsy, and one last beaming smile, and disappeared into her carriage.


It was true, that Anne and Mrs. Darcy were not friends; Anne could not yet help but resent, however slightly, Mrs. Darcy's charisma, and her unreasonable felicity, and was yet frustrated by the apparent partiality every body had for that lady. She was irritated by Mrs. Darcy's habit of speaking her mind, and making her opinion known, which every body else except Lady Catherine seemed to forgive, and the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy together, while perhaps less abhorrent to her than it had been before, was still not a particularly welcome one. She did not look forward, with any great happiness, to the moments when she must meet Mrs. Darcy in company, and be obliged to make pleasant conversation with her. Yet she was glad, the next time they met, to find herself greeted with more real warmth on Mrs. Darcy's part, than she had sensed previously; and their conversation, though hardly affectionate, was rather less stilted, on both sides.

The morning after her walk with Mrs. Darcy, she awoke early, and found herself quite unable to fall asleep again, though she tossed and turned in the bed for nearly a quarter of an hour. At last, admitting defeat, she rose and dressed quietly, as had become her habit on these early mornings, and slipped out of the house and into springtime.

Mrs. Collins had told Mrs. Darcy that the flowers were blooming at Hunsford, which of course meant they were blooming at Rosings as well, and for a moment Anne felt a tingle of home-sickness, as she stepped onto the cobblestone street rather than the garden paths of her home in Kent. But hurrying across the street brought her to the park, where she found flowers to her heart's content, and birds chirping, and all of the other aspects of Nature, which she found very soothing indeed. She took a turn about one of the shorter paths; then, finding she had no desire to return to the Royal Crescent so soon, started down another path.

The morning was quiet, the park as yet largely empty, aside from one or two nursemaids pushing baby-carriages. Anne breathed deeply, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her face, and the rustle of the leaves in the trees as a gentle breeze shook them lightly. She was, she realized, incurably happy, in the present moment; the day felt full of promise, as such days frequently do (although this was not often the case for Anne, whose life had continued the same for nearly twenty-four years). Closing her eyes for a moment, she opened them again to find a familiar figure walking down the path towards her.

For some reason, which she could not name, she was not at all surprised to see him; it was as though some part of her had been expecting it. Mr. Hart caught sight of her in the same moment, and gave a bow in greeting. Anne, with a curtsy, stopped walking, and stood to wait for him, unable to suppress a smile. They met agreeably, and Mr. Hart offered his arm, which Anne was happy to accept, as they walked together.

"I recall, Mr. Hart," Anne began, "that you once told me it is your habit to walk early, when you are troubled by some difficult matter; I hope that is not the case this morning."

"No, indeed," Mr. Hart replied cheerfully. "I suppose I ought to be troubled, for my exams draw nearer every day, but I confess I have found myself in an hopelessly good humor these past few days, which can have no cause other than the coming springtime."

"I was just admiring the flowers, myself."

"Are they so different, from the ones you have in Kent?"

"Every thing is different here," Anne said lightly. "Indeed, I myself am very different when I am here in Bath. You should not have recognized me, if you had met me some months ago; even my cousin Fitzwilliam assures me that I am quite a different creature now, and he has known me all my life."

"I hope he means it as a compliment."

"I think he does; at least, I took it as such. But," Anne continued, considering, "I suppose I am wrong to say that every thing is different here, for there are some people who have not changed.—I am thinking of my mother, whose disposition is always the same where-ever she goes."

"Her character must be strong indeed, if she can remain utterly unaffected by her surroundings; it is a feature which few of us can boast."

"Her character is very strong," Anne affirmed, smiling.

"Speaking of your mother, and her strong character," Mr. Hart said solemnly, "my sister informs me that you are yet a single woman, with no further evidence as to the identity of your future husband, though a week has passed, in which you have had more than enough time to discover all of the facts. Can this be true?"

"I am ashamed to admit it," Anne laughed. "But my mother has not mentioned the matter again, and I am bound to conclude that she was in error, and has since realized it, hence her silence."

"What a grave disappointment, for I was exceedingly curious. That mystery of yours, if you must know, Miss de Bourgh, was one of the reasons which I rose so early this morning, and have been walking in this park, to ease my mind."

"You are joking," Anne accused. "And I confess I think it rather unkind of you, given the subject."

"I am very sorry to hear it, for you are one of the few people in the world to whom I could never be unkind," Mr. Hart said seriously.

Anne raised her eyes to his, and smiled. "What have I done, to deserve such security?" she demanded, feeling quite audacious.

"Why, quite simply, you have become a friend of my sister," he replied. "I have told you before that Rosamond has a dreadful temper, though you would not believe me; and I must tell you now that she is terribly protective of her friends, and will certainly do me some great injury if you should give her any unfavorable report of my behavior."

"Well, then," Anne exclaimed, "you must certainly be excessively amiable to me, or I shall abuse my position directly."

Mr. Hart laughed at this, and they fell pleasantly quiet as they walked. Anne thought idly that there could be nothing more peaceful, though of course she did not mind when her companion spoke again:

"I am very glad to have met you this morning, Miss de Bourgh, for I was sorry that I could not see you yesterday when you visited; I was obliged to run an errand in Green-street, and arrived home after you had left. My sister says that you met your cousin Mrs. Darcy as you left Hart House; I hope she is well?"

"She is very well," Anne said mildly, for she had no real wish to speak of Mrs. Darcy, in spite of their newfound understanding.

"Have you seen that family often, since you have been in Bath?"

"Not very often; only in company, and then only briefly. My mother and I are not particularly intimate with that branch of the family.—Colonel Fitzwilliam is the only cousin we see with any regularity."

"He is a happy man, then," Mr. Hart commented, smiling.

"Perhaps; I think it is only because he is the most obliging out of all of them, and does not so much mind our company."

"You do yourself a great disservice, Miss de Bourgh, if you suppose that your company could be a trial to any sensible person."

Anne flushed with pleasure at the remark; Mr. Hart was indeed, as he had told her, in fine humor this morning. They walked back along the path, their conversation turning towards the beauty of the flowers, and which varieties were preferable, and from thence towards the onset of summer, and which of the seasons was the most enjoyable. They faced one another again at the entrance of the park, as they said their farewells.

"I hope, as ever, that we shall meet again soon," Mr. Hart declared, giving Anne a bow. He straightened again, however, and Anne was startled to find the gentleman looking at her with a curious intensity in his gaze.

"I am sure we shall, Mr. Hart," Anne replied, smiling, "for as you once told me, Bath is the sort of place where one is for-ever meeting one's friends."

"I am flattered that you can remember so well all of the ridiculous things I have said, over our short acquaintance," Mr. Hart answered drily. "I hope—" He hesitated a moment, and then continued, sounding—of all things—rather shy. "I hope you will not take it amiss, if I tell you that I really am very glad that you have come to Bath."

Anne felt her heart leap quite foolishly, and knew without doubt that she must be blushing. "I am also very glad of it," she said, "and I cannot think why I should take such a kind compliment amiss."

To her surprise, Mr. Hart reached out and pressed her hand; very gently, and only for the briefest of instants, before he seemed to recall himself. "Well, good-bye, Miss de Bourgh," he said, with a touch of his usual assurance. "Give my compliments to your cousin the Colonel, if you should happen to see him before I do."

Anne promised that she would, and sent her own compliments to Mr. Hart's family, and, with a final curtsy, hurried back into the Royal Crescent. She could not say why she was smiling so idiotically, nor why the hand which Mr. Hart had touched seemed to tingle, ever so slightly, as she hurried up the stairs to her room.


The remainder of the day was spent out of doors, as Anne visited several of the shops on Milsom-street. She was obliged to endure the society of Miss Louisa Hammond, who had met Anne outside of the Pump-room and insisted on coming along with her to the shops; "For I have been wishing ever so dreadfully for a new ball-gown, dear Anne, as I am sure I shall soon be reduced to wearing one of my old ones; how insupportable!" Yet they were also soon met by the Miss Dillinghams, whose company was rather more bearable in spite of their tendency to gossip, and who, unlike many of the fashionable young ladies of Bath, did not live in awe of Louisa Hammond, and were quite capable of holding a conversation which did not revolve around her. (This ability was appreciated more by Anne than by Louisa, who was in fact rather put out by it.)

After Milsom-street, Anne was easily prevailed upon to attend the Pump-room itself, and sit awhile with the Miss Dillinghams and, later, the Miss Wentworths. It was a merry party, for though Anne had no particular fondness for any of the other young ladies, she thought them all quite agreeable enough. Indeed, every thing seemed perfectly agreeable to her that day; the warmth and sunshine were a balm to her spirits, and she found herself more cheerful than she thought she had ever been.

The Pump-room growing emptier in the afternoon, Anne left again, and walked along the canal a little ways with the elder Miss Wentworth, indulging in light conversation over nothing in particular: concerts they had attended, homes they had visited, people they had seen. Anne displayed her purchases to Miss Wentworth, who reacted with the admiration expected of a young lady of fashion, and their conversation turned onto matters of dress and style, which Anne enjoyed more than she ever had before.

Yet the hour growing late, and Miss Wentworth declaring that she must return home, Anne at last turned her steps again towards the Royal Crescent.

As she climbed the front-steps, she was startled by the door opening very suddenly, as if in great haste; and, to her surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam hurried out of the house, looking markedly cross.

"Miss Anne," he greeted her, though with hardly his usual warmth. Anne paused on the steps.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam; I hope nothing is the matter?"

The Colonel attempted a smile, but it was rather bitter. "All is quite well, thank you, Miss Anne. Excuse me—" He gave a slight bow, and hastened down the steps to hail a sedan-chair.

Anne was rather shocked, and rather hurt, for never before had her cousin treated her with such brusqueness. She wondered if he had argued with Lady Catherine; perhaps it had fallen to his unfortunate lot, to inform her Ladyship of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's happy news, which could not have pleased her. Yet she could make nothing more of the mystery, and continued inside, depositing her little packages in her dressing-room for her maid to put away.

She entered the drawing-room a half-hour later, to find Lady Catherine striding back and forth across the hearth in some agitation.

"There you are, Anne," her Ladyship snapped. "Where on earth have you been all this time?"

"I went to Milsom-street, and the Pump-room," Anne replied, rather discomfited.

"How very pleasant. And did you not think that I might have needed you at home?"

"I confess I did not," Anne answered, her eyes very wide, for she could not recall ever having seen her mother so angry.

"Of course you did not, for no body ever considers me," Lady Catherine spat, looking exceedingly put out.

"That is hardly true, your Ladyship—"

"Anne!" Her Ladyship silenced her daughter with a fierce glare. "I insist you will not argue with me; I have not the temper for such impudence."

Anne held her tongue, but when Lady Catherine continued to glare, she found it quite impossible to remain silent any longer. "I met Colonel Fitzwilliam as I was coming in," she began. Lady Catherine let out something very close to a snort at his name, and resumed her pacing. "He looked quite distressed; and so do you, your Ladyship. Is any thing the matter? Has there been some disaster?"

"There has, Anne," Lady Catherine declared stridently. "What do you think? Colonel Fitzwilliam, the stupid, insolent man, has gotten himself engaged!"

Anne was quite without response for a moment; but her Ladyship appeared not to notice.

"And to a girl of no birth, no fortune, and no connexions; a most odious, ill-bred little baggage. You know her, of course—that loathsome Constance Finch, who is for-ever flirting with Fitzwilliam, and has not a sensible thought in her head."

This Anne thought was quite unfair, for she did truly like Miss Finch, and she attempted to protest: "Miss Finch is a very sensible young lady, mother, and very agreeable.—I think they make a fine couple."

"They do not," Lady Catherine snapped.

"They have an obvious regard and affection for one another," Anne insisted. "I have often seen them together in company, and they are always exceedingly happy, and in each other's confidence."

"She is a silly, useless creature, and has interfered most appallingly with my plans," Lady Catherine said dangerously. At these words, Anne felt her heart sink; yet she resolved not to give voice to any conclusions, until her Ladyship herself had confirmed them.

"Your plans, mother?"

"Of course, Anne; can you really be so callow, or so blind? Surely you must have seen that your cousin Fitzwilliam was the gentleman I had intended for you—surely you must have noticed how often I encouraged you to walk with him, or how well I orchestrated his visits to us here. I suppose you thought it all a great lark; I see I have wasted my time."

Anne's heart sank even further. She truly had been blind, not to have noticed; certainly the fact of his being her cousin was not the only reason for Lady Catherine's continued approval of her friendship with the Colonel. How naïve she was; how insensible of every thing, including her own mother's designs! Mr. Hart, she thought sorrowfully, had been perfectly correct, in supposing the fault of seeing to lie on her side. What a fool she had been!

"I had hoped that an engagement between you might be forthcoming," Lady Catherine continued, her voice yet low and dangerous. "You spend a great deal of time together, and he has always seemed to take great pleasure in your society.—Yet I fear you have disappointed me, Anne, as you disappointed me with regard to Mr. Darcy. Are you determined to die a spinster?"

"Why did you not tell me?" Anne breathed. "Why, mother, if you were so insistent that I should marry him, did you not inform me of your hopes?"

"I thought it perfectly clear," Lady Catherine retorted. "Who else should I have chosen for you, but one of our own line? His fortune and rank are not equal to Mr. Darcy's, yet he has an excellent income, and is much respected. What a fine husband he should have been to you!"

"Yes, he should have been; not because of his income, or his reputation, but because he is a good man," Anne replied, with asperity. She did not think she had ever been so angry, certainly not with her mother. "A husband is not a fortune or a rank, mother, and those things do not make a man any better."

"Fine words for a single girl of no beauty or accomplishment, who is nearly past marrying age, and whose only beau has just been snatched out from under her," Lady Catherine sneered.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam was never my beau—"

"What was he, then?"

"He is my friend," Anne responded heatedly. "He is my friend, and my family, and while I prize his society and think him one of the best men I have ever known, I could never wish to marry him, for he is not—"

She stopped, aghast, for she had been about to say "He is not Mr. Hart."

"Go on, Anne," Lady Catherine ordered after a moment. "You may finish your sentence; he is not what? He is not Mr. Darcy?"

Still rather shaken at her near mistake, Anne met her mother's glare with some difficulty. "Mr. Darcy?" she repeated, confused. "I do not care that he is not Mr. Darcy; I rather prefer him that way. Mr. Darcy and I should have made a wretched couple, mother, whatever our wealth, and whether you realize it or no; Colonel Fitzwilliam and I might have been happier, but it would not have mattered, for though I respect them both, I am not in love with either."

"Marriage and love are not the same thing," Lady Catherine replied coldly, her eyes narrowing. "Have you been so swept up by your ridiculous novels, as to believe that there is any thing more to a marriage than security?"

"I have security," Anne rejoined. "I have a fortune which many more worthy girls might envy, and I have no need of more money; my dowry is more than enough to live upon in comfort."

"You are a silly child, if you think that is all that matters," her Ladyship scoffed, turning away. "What of your family line? What of your duty to your rank? I desire you will leave me in peace, Anne. I will see you at dinner, and we will speak further then."

Anne did as her mother ordered, unable to stop the furious tears spilling from her eyes as she dashed up the stairs.


She indulged her temper, by throwing herself down upon her bed in a very dramatic manner, like some Romantic heroine, and crying briefly into her pillow; yet Anne's disposition was more reasonable than Romantic, and her tears dried very soon, leaving her to sit up on her bed in a state approaching wonderment.

She was in love with Theodore Hart.

The sentence sounded alien to her, almost ridiculous; and yet somehow it also sounded perfectly natural, as though she had known it all along. Certainly, Anne had realized some time ago that she preferred his company to that of any other gentleman, including Colonel Fitzwilliam.

She knew that she thought him exceedingly amusing, and utterly kind; she knew that listening to him tease his sisters and brother, with such obvious fondness, gave her great pleasure, and that she was always excessively delighted when he dared to tease herself.

She knew that she respected him a great deal, that she enjoyed very few things as much as she enjoyed their conversations, and that she dreaded the idea of hurting or offending him.

She even knew that she was jealous of his attention, much to her embarrassment, when it was turned upon others; yet she had not realized, till now, that all of these facts added up into love.

The unfairness of the situation suddenly made itself very apparent. That she, with all her shyness and awkwardness, should fall in love with a gentleman, was one problem; that he should be a gentleman whom she would be no means be able to marry, was another problem entirely. Their respective circumstances and positions in life, their fortunes and backgrounds, made the match entirely unequal. Why could Mr. Hart not have been born the son of a lord, or a baronet? By virtue of his being born lower than she, he was quite as unattainable to Anne as the Prince himself (though, she thought recklessly, to her view, Mr. Hart was much preferable to his Royal Highness).

Her friendship with the Hart family was difficult enough; she had had to resort to secrecy, and falsehood, merely in order to call on Miss Rosamond, within regular social hours, on week-day mornings, when she could visit any of her higher-born acquaintance without causing the least bit of comment. A marriage, then, would be nearly impossible to bring about, especially considering the family to which Anne belonged.—She thought again of her near admission to her mother, and shuddered. How disastrous it would have been, if she had not stopped herself in time! Lady Catherine would surely remove her from Bath, banish her to Rosings Park for the rest of her days, and let no body by the name of Hart approach her ever again, even if they were no relation at all to that treasured family.

If only she were a man! If she were a man, and she had fallen in love with Rosamond, rather than her brother, the situation would not be nearly so complicated; gentlemen of elevated birth were for-ever marrying beneath them. It was looked upon as a quirk of society: not entirely admirable, yet certainly acceptable, where there was love and respect in the case. The Darcys themselves were an example of this; and they, Anne was forced to admit, were one of the most well-matched, well-contented couples of her acquaintance.

Yet for a young lady of rank to marry the son of a physician, however well-respected, was not at all the same thing, no matter how they loved one another. Every body would suppose her to have been seduced, or otherwise abused, for the sake of her fortune; and she did not know that she could bring herself to expose dear Mr. Hart (was she already thinking of him in such terms?) to the world's censure. Anne sighed and fell back onto her pillows, certain she could feel the beginnings of a head-ache behind her eyes.

But of course all of this was irrelevant, and would remain so even if it could be some-how resolved. The only truly significant difficulty was the question of Mr. Hart himself, and his regard for her. She was certain that he liked her: that he valued her society, and that he appreciated her friendship. He had virtually said so to her, this very morning (at the memory, the hand which he had pressed so gently felt rather warm, and Anne lifted it to her eyes, as though searching for signs of his touch. What a silly fool she was becoming!). Yet for him to be in love with her, was certainly too much to hope for—especially, she thought glumly, with such ladies as the handsome and accomplished Miss Cates in the question, who had a longer history and more intimate friendship with him, and was his equal in every way, and thus, Anne supposed, possessed the greater claim to his affection. It was all so exceedingly unfair!

If only she had no rank, and no fortune—what a strange thing to wish for—yet Anne could not help wishing. If only she could put the two of them upon equal footing, so that they could view one another clearly, without any obstacle, surely he would…

Surely he still would not love her, she thought miserably. For she, as her own mother had pointed out, had no beauty and no accomplishment, and very little charm. Anne did not play the pianoforte, or draw, or sing; she was a fine reader, but what use was that to any body but herself? Her conversation was hardly exceptional, however politely Mr. Hart and his sister might pretend to enjoy it, and her features were quite insignificant. It would not matter if she were as poor as any body, for in every particular, she could offer little, and paled upon comparison to other ladies of his acquaintance. Anne was not one of those sentimental young ladies, who can easily imagine signs of love and tenderness where there are none, and are content to fancy all the world enamored with them; in examining Mr. Hart's behavior to her, as she had examined, over the past week, the behavior of nearly every other gentleman she knew, she could find no trace of any thing other than cordiality and good nature, and, occasionally, the sort of fondness which he similarly showed to his younger siblings. She had been blind before, but she was certain her eyes were wide-open now, and there was nothing to suggest that she could hope for any thing approaching devotion, from Mr. Theodore Hart.

These unfortunate reflections, combined with the strain of the day, led Anne's thoughts on ever more winding paths, and before she realized it herself, she had fallen quite asleep. Her rest was troubled, and ended abruptly when her maid came in to dress her for dinner, and was very startled to find Miss de Bourgh laid upon her bed, as she had not been since the difficult days of her head-aches, long ago at Rosings Park.