Sandysan2013: yes that is why the story is call until he gets it right, we get to live in this day together.
Jansfamily4 & PixieKay Girl & ArkadyLea: this chapter is for you...though I had already written it when you commented the suggestion. ;)
LNT: This chapter will throw that thought process for a loop. But it is purposefully done.
Thank you to everyone that commented. Here is Darcy's next adventure...
Chapter 11 Threads of Concern
The morning followed its familiar rhythm: Darcy dispatched John with instructions to retrieve the eucalyptus oil, rode out to rescue Violet from her precarious perch in the tree, and delivered the soothing remedy to young Thomas in the evening. Despite the satisfaction these acts brought, they left his afternoons strangely empty, a void that begged to be filled with purpose.
Darcy found himself reflecting on his cousin Anne. Her quiet demeanor belied a remarkable depth of knowledge about Rosings—something he had only glimpsed during their fleeting exchanges over breakfast. Perhaps it was time to explore the matter further.
After rescuing Violet but while waiting for John to return with the medicine for Thomas, Darcy made his way back to the estate. He found Anne in the library, her usual place of retreat, seated by the window with a book resting on her lap. The soft light of the late afternoon illuminated her pale face, and Darcy couldn't help but notice the faint shadows under her eyes.
He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence. "Anne, may I have a word?"
Anne looked up, her expression one of mild surprise. "Of course, Fitzwilliam. Please, sit." She gestured to the chair opposite her, though her voice lacked its usual strength.
Darcy settled into the seat, his gaze briefly flickering to the untouched tea on the side table beside her. He'd noticed her uneaten breakfast earlier, the way she had excused herself mid-meal, and now this. Something was clearly amiss.
"You seem unwell," he observed gently, leaning forward slightly.
Anne hesitated, her hand tightening on the book in her lap. "It's nothing," she said, a faint tremor in her voice. "Just a passing discomfort."
Darcy's brow furrowed, but he knew better than to press. The boundaries of propriety were clear, and whatever was troubling her, she was not likely to share it openly.
"I won't intrude further on that matter," he said, his tone softening. "But I was hoping to speak with you about the estate. You seem to have a keen understanding of its workings, far more than I'd anticipated. I confess, it has made me wonder why you haven't taken a more active role in its management."
Anne's eyes widened slightly, and she sat up straighter, though the motion seemed to cause her discomfort. "I… Well, I've never been asked," she said carefully. "Mother has always maintained control, and I've—" She paused, searching for the right words. "I've always been content to observe from the periphery."
Darcy studied her, sensing a reluctance that went beyond mere modesty. "It seems to me," he began thoughtfully, "that you might be better suited to oversee Rosings than your mother. Your knowledge is thorough, and you appear to understand the tenants and their needs."
Anne flushed faintly, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her book. "That is kind of you to say, but mother would never allow it. And besides, I—" Her words faltered as her face tightened in pain.
Darcy noticed immediately. "Are you quite sure you're well?"
Anne's lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head lightly. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Fitzwilliam. Truly." She shifted in her seat as though trying to ease her discomfort.
Darcy regarded her in silence for a moment, piecing together what he'd observed: her pale complexion, her avoidance of food, her sudden absences. There was more to this than she was willing to admit, but he respected her reticence.
"Very well," he said at last, deciding to change tack. "If you're ever inclined, I would be glad to hear your thoughts on the estate's operations. My aunt's methods, while… decisive, leave much to be desired in certain areas. Your insight could be invaluable."
Anne offered him a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll consider it," she said quietly. "Thank you."
Before Darcy could say more, Anne shifted again, this time rising to her feet. She swayed slightly as she stood, her face paling further.
"Anne," Darcy said quickly, standing as well.
She held up a hand, her smile apologetic. "I'm fine. Just tired. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire early this evening."
Darcy watched as she left, her steps slow and deliberate. Something about her fragile state gnawed at him, a quiet but insistent reminder that there was more to her than met the eye.
As the day reset, Darcy resolved to keep this thread in mind. If he could unravel the mystery of Anne's health, perhaps he could help her—just as he was helping Violet and young Thomas. For now, however, he had to wait and observe, biding his time as he worked toward a better understanding of the cousin who had quietly intrigued him.
Darcy approached Lady Catherine later that afternoon, after his usual morning routine of rescuing Violet and delivering medicine to the Bendricks. The estate's grand drawing room seemed even larger in the daylight, its cavernous ceilings and heavy drapes amplifying the emptiness of the space. Lady Catherine sat at her writing desk, poring over correspondence with her usual air of self-importance.
At the sound of Darcy's approaching footsteps, she glanced up, her expression expectant. "Ah, Darcy. What brings you here? I assume it must be something of importance for you to seek me out."
"It is," Darcy replied, his voice measured. "It concerns Anne."
Lady Catherine's face lit with a rare smile, a knowing gleam in her eye. "Ah, yes. Anne. I wondered how long it would take for you to bring her up."
Darcy frowned slightly. "Her health, Aunt Catherine. I have noticed—"
"Nonsense," Lady Catherine interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Anne has been seen by the finest doctors, and they assure me there is no cause for alarm. Her delicacy is a mark of refinement, not a malady. It only makes her more... appealing.""
Darcy's frown deepened, his patience thinning. "She left breakfast this morning, pale and clearly unwell. She often appears fatigued and has difficulty eating. Are these not concerns to be addressed?"
Lady Catherine laughed, the sound sharp and grating. "You are quite mistaken if you think there is anything serious at play. I have had the finest doctors examine her, and they found nothing amiss. Anne simply needs purpose—a stable home and the prospect of a suitable match. These minor inconveniences will pass with time and the proper distractions."
Darcy stiffened, his jaw tightening. "With all due respect, Aunt Catherine, marriage is not a cure for ill health. If there is something troubling Anne, ignoring it will only make matters worse."
Lady Catherine leaned back in her chair, studying him with a shrewd glint in her eye. "You are very concerned for her, I see. It is only natural, I suppose. Anne is, after all, an excellent match for you. Our families united would restore the legacy of Pemberley and Rosings to its rightful grandeur. Her delicate nature would complement your strength."
Darcy's chest tightened. "I am not speaking of Anne as a potential match. I am speaking of her well-being."
Lady Catherine tutted, waving his words away as if they were inconsequential. "Darcy, you trouble yourself unnecessarily. A strong husband, such as yourself, could guide her better than any physician. Stability, not fretting, is what she requires.""
Her pointed gaze left no doubt about her meaning, but Darcy refused to engage in such a discussion. "Anne's health is not something to be dismissed as a flight of fancy, Aunt. You may see her as merely delicate, but I see signs of genuine discomfort that should not be ignored."
Lady Catherine scoffed. "You have spent too much time brooding, Darcy. Perhaps it is you who requires a distraction. I think you and Anne would be quite content together, once you cease imagining ailments where there are none. A marriage of sense and propriety—that is what is needed here."
Darcy rose from his chair, bowing stiffly. "Thank you for your perspective, Aunt Catherine. I see now that this was a mistake."
"Indeed," Lady Catherine said airily, returning to her correspondence. "Do not trouble yourself further, Darcy. All will be well in time."
As he left the room, Darcy felt a surge of frustration and futility. His aunt was not only blind to Anne's struggles but insistent on leveraging them for her own schemes. Whatever aid Anne needed, it was clear Lady Catherine would not provide it.
He clenched his fists as he walked down the corridor. If no one else would help Anne, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
As Darcy walked the grounds of Rosings that evening, the fresh air did little to clear his thoughts. He had hoped that focusing on Anne and the Bendrick family's plight might provide some relief from his preoccupation with Elizabeth Bennet. But even now, as he tried to shift his focus, she lingered in his thoughts—her wit, her loyalty, her anger—all of it refusing to be set aside.
It was maddening. Every attempt he made to concentrate on matters of greater importance—estate management, his tenants, Anne's well-being—inevitably circled back to her. The sharp wit she wielded with such ease, her fierce loyalty to her family, even her anger toward him—all of it commanded his attention in a way no one else ever had.
And now, as if to further complicate matters, he realized he needed her help once more. The idea of enlisting Elizabeth to assist Anne was fraught with obstacles. It was one thing to seek her aid for the Bendrick family, a matter tied to practical remedies and compassion. But Anne?
Darcy shook his head, frustrated with himself. Elizabeth's disdain for him was palpable. Fitzwilliam's ill-advised revelation about his interference with Bingley and Jane had shattered any chance of civility between them. Her avoidance of him was deliberate and unwavering, and each passing day only deepened the divide.
How could he engage her when she refused every opportunity for contact? Elizabeth's absence from tea at Rosings left him grasping for ways to approach her. Still, the urgency of Anne's health outweighed his hesitation. Elizabeth, with her knowledge of herbal remedies and her unerring practicality, might be the only one who could help Anne.
Darcy's fists clenched at his sides. This was intolerable. He needed her assistance for Anne, but her good opinion still weighed heavily on his mind. It wasn't just her anger that troubled him—it was the way he still sought her approval, her respect. It frustrated him endlessly that he couldn't separate his need to help Anne from his desire for Elizabeth's regard.
But how? How could he fix what he had broken?
The answer didn't come, and Darcy's frustration grew. He was accustomed to solving problems with determination and action, yet Elizabeth remained an enigma, a challenge unlike any he had faced. She was not a puzzle to solve but a force that refused to yield, captivating and immovable.
By midmorning tomorrow, Elizabeth would decline the Collinses' invitation to tea, just as she had done every day since hearing of his interference. And while he might succeed in rescuing Violet and helping little Thomas, neither of those victories brought him any closer to repairing the damage he had done to Elizabeth's view of him—or to solving the deeper mysteries of her heart.
Darcy sighed heavily, his steps slowing as he reached the edge of the garden. He couldn't stop thinking about her, even when he wanted to. That much was clear. But if he couldn't convince her to help him directly, then he would have to find another way to bridge the gap between them.
For now, though, all he could do was wait for tomorrow and try again.
Darcy rose early the next morning, his mind already set on the day's plan. He had dispatched John to London with a letter detailing the request for eucalyptus oil, confident the man could reach Gardiner Imports quickly. That was one task completed. The next step required a delicate balance of persuasion and timing.
After dressing swiftly, Darcy headed to Fitzwilliam's chambers. He knocked lightly before entering, finding his cousin in the process of tying his cravat.
"Darcy," Fitzwilliam said, glancing up with mild surprise. "What brings you here before breakfast? Have we changed the order of our days now?"
Darcy ignored the jab, stepping into the room. "Richard, I need a favor."
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow but continued with his cravat. "This early? It must be important."
"It is," Darcy replied, pacing slightly. "After breakfast, I need you to ride out with me."
"To where?" Fitzwilliam asked, eyeing him skeptically. "I thought you mentioned you had correspondence to address after breakfast."
Darcy's jaw tightened briefly. He had abandoned those letters days ago, or was it months ago in the wake of this relentless cycle, and there was no time to dwell on them now. "The correspondence can wait. I need your assistance with a matter concerning one of the tenant families."
Fitzwilliam paused, his expression softening with curiosity. "A tenant family? This is unlike you, Darcy. You rarely involve yourself directly in such things."
"Perhaps," Darcy allowed, his tone clipped, "but the matter is urgent. Will you come?"
Fitzwilliam smirked. "You're quite desperate, aren't you? Very well. I suppose I can spare an hour or two before my usual constitutional."
Darcy exhaled, relief mingling with apprehension. "Thank you."
Breakfast passed in its usual manner, with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation and offering unsolicited advice on every conceivable topic. Darcy endured her interruptions in silence, his mind focused on the task ahead.
Afterward, he and Fitzwilliam mounted their horses and set out, the crisp morning air brushing against their faces. Fitzwilliam was uncharacteristically quiet for the first few minutes, though Darcy could feel his cousin's curious gaze lingering on him.
Finally, Fitzwilliam broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me what this is about, or are we riding into mystery for the thrill of it?"
Darcy didn't answer, his attention fixed on the grove ahead. As they neared, he slowed his horse, scanning the area for signs of movement. Then he saw her—Violet Bendrick, perched precariously on a high branch, a small bird's nest cradled in her hands.
"Stay here," Darcy instructed, dismounting quickly.
"Darcy," Fitzwilliam called after him, dismounting as well. "What on earth—"
"Miss Violet Bendrick!" Darcy called sharply, his tone commanding but steady.
The girl froze, her small form wobbling slightly on the branch. She clutched the nest tighter, her wide eyes darting to him. "H-how do you know my name?" she stammered.
Darcy hesitated briefly, realizing his misstep. "Never mind that," he said briskly. "Come down—carefully. I'll help you."
Fitzwilliam reached his side, his confusion evident. "Darcy, do you make a habit of memorizing the names of tenant children? And why is she up there?"
"She's returning a bird's nest," Darcy explained shortly, his focus on Violet. "Miss Bendrick, listen to me. Hold the branch tightly and come down slowly. I'll make sure you're safe."
The girl hesitated, glancing nervously at the ground below. "I just wanted to put it back where it belonged," she murmured, her voice trembling.
Darcy's expression softened. "That was kind of you, but it's dangerous. Let me help."
With Darcy's guidance and Fitzwilliam steadying the lower branches, Violet began her descent. When she finally reached the ground, Darcy crouched to meet her gaze.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, scanning her for any sign of injury.
"No, sir," she replied, clutching the empty nest to her chest. "But... how did you know my name?"
Darcy hesitated, glancing at Fitzwilliam, whose expression mirrored Violet's curiosity.
"That's a very good question," Fitzwilliam said, crossing his arms. "Care to explain, cousin?"
Darcy ignored him, turning back to Violet. "Next time, leave the climbing to others. You could have been seriously hurt."
Violet nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
As they escorted Violet back to her family's cottage, Darcy remained tight-lipped, evading Fitzwilliam's pointed questions about how he'd known Violet's name. Darcy had his discussion with Mrs. Bendrick assuring her he would return that evening with medicine for her son Thomas.
"You're hiding something, Darcy," Fitzwilliam said, his tone half-teasing. "First you drag me out here, then you demonstrate a shocking familiarity with a tenant's child. What are you up to?"
"It's nothing," Darcy replied, his tone clipped. "Simply a matter that required attention."
Fitzwilliam's teasing remark lingered in the air as Darcy directed his horse toward the parsonage, resolutely ignoring his cousin's grin.
"You've certainly developed a sudden interest in tenant families," Fitzwilliam quipped, falling in line beside him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you started hosting tea parties for them next."
Darcy clenched his jaw but refrained from responding. His plan required careful precision; he couldn't afford distractions.
As they approached the parsonage, Darcy saw Elizabeth returning from her walk. Her bonnet shielded her face, but the way she brushed a stray curl from her cheek betrayed a flicker of something—fatigue, irritation, or perhaps both. Darcy's heart gave a small, unwelcome lurch.
Her gaze met his briefly before she looked away, her expression as guarded as ever. Not anger, as it had been after Fitzwilliam's revelation about Bingley and Jane, but something quieter, cooler. A wall of disdain she had no intention of lowering.
In the garden, Mrs. Collins tended her herbs with practiced movements. Elizabeth passed her with a warm smile before excusing herself toward the house, leaving Darcy dismounting and motioning for Fitzwilliam to follow.
"Mrs. Collins," Darcy began, stepping to the garden gate, "might I have a word?"
Mrs. Collins straightened, brushing soil from her hands. "Of course, Mr. Darcy. How can I be of assistance?"
"I've been concerned about Miss de Bourgh's health of late," he said. "She seems... unwell."
Mrs. Collins's brow furrowed. "Oh, yes, I've noticed it too. Poor Miss de Bourgh has been quite pale, and she hardly touches her meals. I've wondered if it's something more serious, but Lady Catherine insists it's just a passing phase."
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know of any remedies that might ease her discomfort?"
Mrs. Collins frowned in thought, glancing toward her herb garden. "I've used ginger and chamomile for mild ailments, but I'm not sure they would be sufficient for something more severe. I wish I knew more."
At that moment, Elizabeth reappeared on the garden path, having forgotten her gloves. She paused, hearing the conversation, her brow furrowing slightly as her gaze flickered to Darcy.
Darcy suppressed a pang of unease. He knew she was listening, but he couldn't address her directly—not yet. He turned back to Mrs. Collins. "Perhaps Miss Bennet might offer some insight? I recall hearing she has a particular knowledge of such matters—likely learned from her grandmother."
Mrs. Collins's face brightened. "Yes, of course! Elizabeth has always had a gift for remedies, hasn't she? And her uncle—he imports the rarest herbs. Elizabeth, my dear," she called, waving her over.
Elizabeth hesitated before stepping forward, her expression wary. "Mrs. Collins?"
"Mr. Darcy was asking about Miss de Bourgh's health," Mrs. Collins explained. "I told him you might have advice."
Elizabeth's gaze flicked to Darcy, searching for something unspoken. "If Miss de Bourgh is unwell, ginger or chamomile might help," she said cautiously. "Eucalyptus oil is good for fatigue. My uncle could procure some if needed."
Mrs. Collins clapped her hands. "That's wonderful, Elizabeth! Perhaps you could join me in speaking with Miss de Bourgh at tea?"
Elizabeth hesitated again. Her gaze lingered on Darcy—wary, curious, unreadable. Finally, she said, "If Miss de Bourgh would like my advice, I'd be happy to offer it."
Darcy inclined his head. "Thank you, Miss Bennet. Your insight will be most helpful."
As Elizabeth excused herself, Darcy caught the faintest flicker in her eyes. A spark of emotion—fleeting, unnamed—that stirred something warm within him. Perhaps she wasn't as indifferent as she wanted him to believe.
Fitzwilliam, who had been silent until now, finally spoke as they mounted their horses. "You're full of surprises today, cousin. First tenants, now herbal remedies? What's next—picking out curtains for the parsonage?"
Darcy ignored him, his thoughts already churning. If Elizabeth could see to Anne, it might accomplish two goals: easing Anne's discomfort and proving to Elizabeth that he cared for his family, not just his pride.
Tea at Rosings unfolded as predictably as ever, with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation and Mr. Collins eagerly parroting her opinions. Darcy sat stiffly in his chair, his tea untouched, his attention entirely absorbed by the scene across the room.
Elizabeth was seated beside Anne, leaning in slightly as she spoke in a low, soothing tone. Anne, pale and wan as ever, nodded occasionally, her usually tense expression softening. The two women looked like a study in contrasts—Elizabeth vibrant and full of life, Anne fragile and subdued—but at this moment, they seemed to be in perfect harmony.
Darcy's eyes narrowed. He wished desperately to hear what they were saying, to discern whether Elizabeth's advice might truly help his cousin. But the distance, combined with the ever-droning voice of Lady Catherine, made it impossible to catch even a snippet of their conversation.
Lady Catherine's sharp laugh brought his focus momentarily back to the rest of the room. "Of course, Mr. Collins, I've always said it's the duty of those in positions of influence to set an example for their inferiors. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy gave a perfunctory nod, his gaze already drifting back to Elizabeth and Anne. He noted the way Elizabeth gestured lightly with her hands as she spoke, her expression one of earnest concern. Anne responded with a faint smile—a rarity, Darcy realized with a pang of guilt.
The tea concluded, and Elizabeth excused herself, offering a polite but distant curtsy in Darcy's direction before departing with Mrs. Collins. Darcy lingered, watching as Anne rose slowly from her chair.
"Anne," he said, approaching her with measured steps, "you seemed... engaged in conversation with Miss Bennet during tea. May I ask what you discussed?"
Anne gave him a faintly amused look, the closest she ever came to teasing. "Womanly matters, cousin. Nothing you need concern yourself with."
Darcy frowned. "Miss Bennet is knowledgeable in remedies. Did she offer any advice?"
Anne nodded, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. "She did. Quite helpful advice, in fact."
"And?" Darcy prompted, his frustration growing.
"And I'll see if it works," Anne replied, her tone light but firm. "There's no need for you to trouble yourself over it."
"Anne," Darcy said with uncharacteristic impatience, "I only wish to ensure you receive the proper care. If Miss Bennet suggested something specific—"
"Fitzwilliam," Anne interrupted gently, "I appreciate your concern, but truly, everything is under control."
Her refusal to elaborate left Darcy both exasperated and intrigued. He had no doubt that Elizabeth had offered some thoughtful, practical remedy, but Anne's secrecy was maddening. Did she genuinely believe he didn't care enough to understand—or was she protecting Elizabeth's confidence?
As Anne left the room, Darcy stood rooted in place, his mind racing. The day had brought what appeared to be progress—Elizabeth had interacted with Anne, and perhaps her advice might alleviate Anne's suffering. But the weight of the loop pressed down on him. Whatever had been discussed, whatever remedies or reassurances Elizabeth had offered, would be gone by morning.
Elizabeth and Anne would forget this conversation as surely as the sun would rise again on Thursday. And Darcy would be left in the same place, with the same unanswered questions and the same frustration gnawing at him.
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the drawing room. The reset wasn't just erasing his progress—it was a constant reminder of his own helplessness. He couldn't rely on Anne to remember Elizabeth's advice or even recall that they had spoken. Tomorrow would bring the same tea, the same voices, and the same barriers between him and the truth.
Darcy resolved to try again tomorrow, though his patience wore thin. If the loop allowed him no rest, no reprieve, then he would find a way to bridge the gap himself. For tonight, all he could do was let the frustration simmer and wait for the inevitable restart.
So why did Violet not remember Darcy today? Any guess? Are you as frustrated about Lady Catherine being stubborn as Darcy is? Am I being mean that Anne just wont let Darcy help her? How do you think he can overcome this obstacle and help Anne? Remember I have already written the answers but I'd love to see if anyone guesses. Also, Fitzwilliam was the annoying comic relief...I don't think I did him right...thoughts? Hey at least he wasn't walking with Elizabeth today, just annoying Darcy all day.