Chapter 2
As the carriage pulled into the stately drive at Rosings, Darcy sent a quick utterance skywards to give him the strength that he would need to survive this ordeal. The carriage swayed slightly as he woodenly stepped down onto the crunching gravel beneath him. He picked at an imaginary smear on his greatcoat in unstated nervousness as he slowly made his way to the great oak entrance. For all his haste to get the ordeal over with, he could fairly be accused of procrastinating as he waited on the threshold, building the strength to knock.
Soon enough he was being announced by a footman to Anne, who was having a break from her mother's demanding presence to take tea in the green parlour. He was loath to interrupt her peaceful silence but was relieved when a soft smile graced her countenance. He noticed that she looked well, if a little tired, and upon greeting her he conveyed his concern that she was not sleeping enough.
"Do not worry about that, my dear cousin," she retorted, with an unfamiliar glint in her soft blue eyes. He was reminded of his lovely wife and smiled subconsciously. "For you are now here to rescue me from such a cruel fate."
Darcy was astonished when she chuckled, for he had never seen her so animated. He thought idly that she would benefit from a visit to his beloved Pemberley - not least from some time out of her mother's shadow, and in the presence of his charming wife.
"I am afraid that I am no knight, and it would appear that we are lacking the necessary rounded table for any other brave knave to take my place," he returned jokingly. "Forgive me," he stated in a more serious tone, "but how is your mother?"
"As well as one can expect, for one with such exaggerated sensibilities and with only a sickly daughter to attend to her." Darcy picked up on her clipped tone and her barely concealed eye-roll, and realised that his suspicions had been correct.
"She is not dying." It was a brusque statement borne from almost overwhelming frustration. His brow furrowed.
"I fear she is only doing such a thing in her mind," Anne said apologetically. "Only she has been making such a fuss that one would think that death were truly knocking on the doors and all of the windows. I do not know what to do in order to contain her. She is making my life even more difficult than is usually her wont and I do not favour myself upon the gallows for her 'accidental' demise; either that or my eventual commitment to Bedlam."
"Well I am happy for your sake that it is not so grave as it appeared, though I would very much like to see her to assess the situation before deciding upon the best course of action." This was enunciated in a clipped tone, as Fitzwilliam Darcy contemplated all that he had sacrificed to come to Kent for a seemingly fictitious disease that plagued his most ridiculous relation.
"She is in her chambers, I shall dispatch Johnson to show you to her," she acquiesced, calling the appropriate man and moving to find a book to occupy her whilst her cousin took the gauntlet and went in search of her mother.
~.~
The air was stagnant and stifling in the gaudy chambers when he crossed the threshold into his aunt's rooms. Looking around, the deep pink furnishings became more and more ostentatious as one neared his aunt's vast bed. It was as if her ridiculousness suffused into the air around her, becoming more intoxicating the closer he moved towards her. Looking upon her from the doorway, she did indeed seem very small surrounded by so many lurid pillows and throws. He breathed in a thick lungful of the stale air to brace himself before squaring his shoulders and crossing the floor.
"Thank goodness, you have come after all," she began in a voice that curiously grew less hoarse as she continued speaking, as if she were mended by his very presence. "Anne was so worried that you would not come, what with your wife being so inconveniently occupied, but I knew that you would not besmirch your good name any further, and that you would come to our aid."
He did not know quite how to respond to such a declaration, and elected to remain silent as his nails dug into his palms with the force of his angry clenching. It would not help Anne to throw an angry retort and rile her, and Elizabeth had specifically entreated him to remain civil. Thinking of her beloved face brought a measure of calm to his head which did not settle into his tense figure. He struggled with the insinuation that it was Lizzy's fault that she was bringing another wonderful child into the world, but bit his tongue against the bile that was rising. With the thought of his wife's calming smile at the forefront of his mind, he returned his attention to his aunt, who was still babbling in a manner not dissimilar to her beloved parson, Mr Collins.
"- and I find myself most revived by my beloved nephew finally coming to his senses and to his aunt's side." He rolled his eyes imperceptibly and offered her some herbal remedy that the physician had left by her bedside. He was not ready to address her rudeness in shunning Mrs Darcy for so long, but he found that he could distract her and avoid the subject and be perfectly polite. He was determined to obey Elizabeth's requests.
"One can not take too many restoratives, dear nephew. Even though I am feeling much better, I think I shall take a brandy over that rotten ginger root syrup. It does taste frightfully bitter, you see. Yes I think a brandy would do wonders for my poor head."
He felt like strangling her for separating him from his dear wife in the depth of winter with a babe on the way but, remembering that dear wife, he merely smiled tersely and fetched her the brandy she desired.
It became apparent in the next hour as she spoke and regained her usual vivaciousness that the disease that had befallen her was simply estrangement from her dear nephew. She was seeking his attention after just shy of an eighteen-month of separation and, although unwilling to apologise for her behaviour, seemed to recognise that shunning her wealthy nephew had not been in her best interests.
He had managed the full hour without losing his temper, drawing upon all of his practice in the art of haughtiness from those miserable ballroom years without his wife to rescue him. However, the magnitude of the situation fully set in when she made to remove herself from under the counterpane and he came to understand how precious little of her ailing condition was true.
"You are not ill," he stated simply.
"Not now that you are returned and the air has cooled," she replied unapologetically.
"How DARE you," his voice raised a level louder than customary for polite conversation. He was still holding tightly to his last vestiges of pretended calam. "You have pulled me away from my wife - my expecting wife - from whom I so wholly dislike being separated. You have summoned me here in treacherous weather no less, under the false pretensions of an illness so clearly imagined that there is no room for mistake. What have you to say for yourself? What could possibly justify this foolhardy request?"
"And this is how you speak to your elders, Fitzwilliam? Your wife has turned you very wild indeed."
"Enough," he barked, the threat clear in his tone. "You will not speak of Mrs Darcy if you do not have anything kind to say. And I will continue to speak to you with the respect you have earned."
"I-" she began, sufficiently cowed. Mr Darcy saw the pallor return to her face the instant she realised that she had crossed a line. "Forgive me, I misspoke."
"I shall accept your apology when you share it with my wife." His tone brooked no exception.
She stared him down, unwilling to concede. The malaise which had settled into her gut returned with force at his harsh features and closed stance. She had thought his arrival signalled her return to his favour, but could not understand his petulant behaviour. She rationalised that insulting his wife, whom he so clearly adored, in his presence was perhaps not the best way to proceed. Swallowing the bitterness in her throat, she saw the only rational course of action,
"I must apologise to you and Mrs Darcy, nephew. I have indeed behaved abominably these past months."
Though he was enraged at her high-handedness and unnecessary dramatics, he decided that it was in the interests of his whole family, his wife and Anne especially, that he would have to accept his aunt's forgiveness for her trespasses against Elizabeth.
He told her as much, and that was all that was needed for her to finally remove herself from under the counterpane, ring the bell for a servant and shoo him so that she could make herself presentable for dinner.
~.~
Though he would have liked to return to the carriage and be on his way to Pemberley, Mr Darcy huffed in frustration as his valet helped him into his dinner clothes. It was apparent that his aunt would demand at least an evening of his time before condescending to allow him to return to his darling expecting wife. In any case, it was too dark outside to begin travelling home.
"Thank you, Perkins," he murmured softly, attempting to retain the cool mask that betrayed the fury broiling beneath. If it weren't for his wife's demands, and his cousins' continued hardship, he would strangle his irritating aunt until she was begging him to renew their estrangement. He knew he must master himself, and continue the charade of friendliness at least until he left Rosings and regained some distance from the woman. He knew this would all be much simpler if Elizabeth were by his side, but schooled those thoughts into submission before they made his anger and longing rise any further.
Thinking of his cousin Anne, and his departure in the morning, he smoothed an errant curl and exhaled a rough breath. Allowing himself one more pensive glance at the looking glass, he returned below stairs and joined his cousin in the drawing room to await his aunt.
"I must thank you, Fitzwilliam," Anne began earnestly, "you cannot know how much of a relief it is to see my mother happy. I had begun to worry that her feigned illness may take root in seriousness."
"Think nothing of it," he replied, thinking that she should in fact think everything of it, but having already resigned himself to his attempt at familial felicity he said nothing further. "I am only sorry that you are forced to endure her silliness so frequently. If you ever need an escape, and your health permits it," he added as an afterthought, "Elizabeth and I would be glad to welcome you to Pemberley."
Anne's countenance brightened at the prospect of such a glorious freedom, and Darcy was surprised to find her subtly beautiful. She was nothing compared to his wife, of course, but he had never considered his cousin as anything but a poor, sickly invalid before. Her illness abating in the absence of her mother, he found her to be pleasantly charming. They would have to invite her to a ball in the near future, and become as scheming as dear Georgiana had been whilst trying to bring him and his wife together. Hopefully they would have the same success in ensuring Anne's happiness.
"Thank you Fitz, I would simply love to. Even if I were set against the idea, I fear I am in your debt regardless. I appreciate what you have given up in order to come here and I am most grateful. I think mama may have something to say on the subject of my quitting Rosings for Pemberley, however." The last was said with wistful regret and he took pity on her.
"I am sure she would not be too opposed to the idea, were I to mention the possibility of a ball for yourself and Georgiana, with a myriad of eligible young gentlemen on the guest card. After we so cruelly spurned her plans for out connubial felicity, it is the least we can do."
He was so glad that they could talk lightly on the matter now. Previously, his aunt's desires to see them married had had the opposite effect to that which she had intended, and had instead made their encounters somewhat awkward. A soft pinkness graced his cheeks at the remembrance of it.
"I can only agree, and I can only express my gratitude once more. Seeing you at last so happy with Elizabeth has made me question my duties to myself as well as those I extend to my mother." She smiled sadly, and Darcy pressed her arm comfortingly as he ruminated on the happiness she talked of.
"I am most anxious for you to meet George," he said, only a hint of bitterness betraying his forced tranquility.
"How can I ever apologise for not having met him already? You cannot imagine how long I have wished for such a meeting to occur, but I could not simply steal away unaccompanied in the dead of night to come to you." The small, sad smile returned and Darcy's mein crumbled gently.
He knew she wasn't at fault for her tardiness at meeting his son, but it upset him greatly that his family did not include George in their lives. He knew that the only way to remedy that was to rebuild the bridges his aunt had callously burned, but it was not going to be an easy task. She was so infuriating. How was such a woman to be worked upon? He was almost tempted to steal Anne away in the middle of that very night, but the last thing he desired was his wife's wrath, or indeed the scandal that would necessarily follow such actions.
"We can remedy that upon my return to Pemberley, if you desire," he said gently. "You are welcome to join us whenever you please."
"Perhaps leaving my mother so soon after her convalescence would not be wise," she returned, "but I shall impose upon your kindness as soon as is possible."
They smiled at their newly formed alliance as Lady Catherine de Bourgh joined them in all her state, sharing a conspiratorial look behind her flouncing behind, before heading into the dining room.
Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, content as Darcy was to listen to his aunt fill the room with idle rambling about the awful toll that his behaviour had taken upon her usually robust constitution. He could scarce believe it, but she did not make a derogatory remark about his wife even once, until Anne tried to change the tack of her mother's monologue. He was grateful that she was trying to be less openly abrasive towards his choice of bride. Perhaps she was heeding his earlier words and embodying her apology. Or perhaps Elizabeth had been correct, and his aunt's hatred of her was purely that she was not Anne, and not an actual remark upon her character. He was sceptical, but had let it lie.
"I hope you left Mrs Darcy well," Anne said softly, lifting the unspoken taboo. Lady Catherine's eyes widened in shock at hearing her daughter actively begin a conversation at dinner. It was fortunate that she remained so, for it prevented her usual vitriol towards Elizabeth and allowed for the conversation to continue unhindered. Anne began to feel brave at her mother's silenced reaction and continued. "And how does baby George fare?"
Upon this topic, Darcy was as far from the reticent young man he had once been at Netherfield as one could hope to coax him. His countenance fairly shone with memories of his small family and he enthused about his son and wife. Anne listened in rapt attention to the description of the happiness at Pemberley, and even Lady Catherine found her leathery features contorted into a smile at seeing at least some of her family so pleasantly situated.
Repining the fact that Anne did not yet share the same felicity, she resolved nonetheless that marital happiness suited her nephew exceedingly well. It emphasised his Fitzwilliam handsomeness and brought a lump to her throat as she was reminded of her departed sister. They had looked so alike when they smiled. Then, to the surprise of the small party, and the servants who were privy to the dinnertime conversation, she spoke to her nephew.
"Pray, has George begun to resemble his great Fitzwilliam ancestors as of yet?" She asked, in her softest tones. Darcy smiled wryly at her before replying. She was attempting some civility at least.
"He has his mother's liveliness, but he retains my mother's eyes," he said with a gentle nostalgia for his dear, departed mama. "And such a crown of blonde curls I have never seen but for atop the head of my sister."
His paternal pride suffused a look of such warmth upon his face that Anne could not resist pestering him with question after question about her nephew of sorts.
"-he is ever such a fine boy," Mr Darcy effused. Anne couldn't remember him ever being effusive about anything. "The doctor assures us he is well ahead of any expectations on a child. He walked early, which perhaps is not such a blessing as one would expect - for he causes a great deal of chaos wherever he waddles."
Anne laughed joyfully to see him so altered.
"And he can be quite vocal when I do not immediately bend my will to his every whim." Mr Darcy's tone told her that such bending was a treasure rather than a task.
Anne's face fairly melted at the picture of happiness painted by her cousin's descriptions of little George Darcy and his antics, and she entreated her mother to permit a visit to Pemberley in the near future. Lady Catherine was so shocked that her shy, poor Anne would request anything, that confused permission was soon granted.
Darcy had not mentioned the potential of a ball, but he would talk to Elizabeth upon his return and her recovery about the prospect of a Spring Ball. It would be her second such event, and likely just as successful as the first, though perhaps with slightly more care taken over the timings.
The dinner passed more quietly than expected. To the pleasant surprise of all in attendance, Anne carried the majority of the discourse. Her mother sat for the large part in resigned silence and her cousin in impatient frustration. He was fairly buzzing with the need to return to his family. He could not bear the thought of not being present to welcome his second child into the world.