Most of you guest correctly about Anne ailment, I suffer from PCOS and often had anemia because of my time of the month and have been bed ridden with the pain so bad, so you know write what you know, and teas actually have helped me. I could so see it running in the Fitzwilliam side of the family, Lady Anne having only two children 11 years a part, etc.
FireRose77: In a way he is, I want to write all the characters have major flaws that they don't see in themselves. and I will admit I used him a lot for comic relief.
Hezzel: there is a good reason why that wont work that will be explained soon.
Peperuda: He as told her, and he has even told her he would marry Anne in chapter 3 remember...lol. Lady Catherine has mental condition of only hearing what she wants to hear. I agree with Colonel. Actually I want to shake all of my characters from time to time.
Thank you to the rest of the positive reviewers as for the troll post I ignored it, I also take guest comments with a grain of salt as I know some are too lazy to log in. (Hey I have been guilty of that when I am on my phone) but I also know some do it just to troll and frankly I can easily ignore them. But thank you to those that tried to defend me.
Here is chapter 12 early cause I have just finished writing chapter 21 and thought why not share 12.
Chapter 12 A Flicker of Memory
A dog barked in the distance, sharp and insistent, carried by the low groan of wind slipping through the slightly open window. Darcy stirred at the familiar sound, blinking against the dim light of dawn. The air in his room felt faintly chilled, the kind of discomfort he could ignore but always noticed.
The clock chimed six, each note distinct, resonating through the space and his chest with the weight of repetition. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Darcy exhaled, rubbing his temples as he rose from bed. He didn't need to look at the faintly melted candle or the neatly arranged desk to know that nothing had changed. It was Thursday again.
Wentworth entered promptly, as he always did, bowing slightly before announcing, "Good morning, sir. Your bath is ready."
Darcy responded with a brief nod. "See that John is ready to ride by the time I've dressed."
"Yes, sir," Wentworth replied, departing without question or comment.
Darcy dressed efficiently, his movements practiced and deliberate. He sent John off with his usual instructions to retrieve the oil from Gardiner Imports, knowing the young man would return just as tea began. Then, with time slipping away, he made his way to Fitzwilliam's room.
Darcy moved with urgency as he dressed quickly and headed to Fitzwilliam's chambers, determined to accomplish his mission despite the strange repetition of the day. He knocked lightly before entering, finding his cousin tying his cravat, the same mild surprise crossing Fitzwilliam's face.
"Darcy," he said, "What brings you here before breakfast? Have we changed the order of our days now?"
Darcy barely acknowledged the comment, stepping into the room. "Richard, I need a favor."
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, continuing with his cravat. "This early? It must be important."
Darcy's impatience showed as he explained, "After breakfast, I need you to ride out with me."
Fitzwilliam eyed him skeptically, wondering why Darcy would abandon his usual plans. "To where? I thought you had letters to attend to after breakfast."
Darcy's jaw tightened, the letters irrelevant now, and he suppressed his frustration. "The correspondence can wait. There's a matter with one of the tenant families that requires your attention."
Fitzwilliam paused, curiosity evident. "A tenant family? This is unlike you, Darcy. You rarely involve yourself directly in such things." Darcy's tone sharpened as he pressed, "It's urgent. Will you come?"
Fitzwilliam smirked, clearly amused. "You're quite desperate, aren't you? Fine, I'll spare an hour or two before my constitutional."
Darcy breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but his mind was already racing ahead to Elizabeth, determined to ensure she would come to tea and advise Anne, saving her from the sickness. He had a plan to follow, and he would make sure Fitzwilliam's path didn't intersect with Elizabeth's. Breakfast was its usual affair.
After a brief ride with Fitzwilliam, during which his cousin remained curious but silent, Darcy's thoughts circled relentlessly around two matters: Violet Bendrick and Miss de Bourgh's health. This time, he wasn't merely fulfilling an obligation; he was determined to act. Anne needed help, and Elizabeth's insight might provide the solution.
Later, when he encountered Elizabeth in the garden, he was struck by a subtle shift in her demeanor. She no longer seemed angry, but a faint distance lingered between them—a coolness that left him uneasy. As Mrs. Collins mentioned Elizabeth's knowledge of remedies, Darcy caught a flicker in Elizabeth's expression. Was it jealousy? No, that was absurd. He must have imagined it, grasping at shadows to soothe his wounded pride. Elizabeth had made her feelings toward him abundantly clear, and yet… why did her concern seem genuine?
When Elizabeth offered her advice, Darcy struggled to focus. Her voice was steady, her words precise, but her motives eluded him. Was her assistance born of simple kindness, or did it hint at something deeper? He dismissed the notion almost as quickly as it arose. Affection from Elizabeth? No, he couldn't allow himself to entertain such fantasies.
Yet the question lingered, refusing to be silenced. As he mounted his horse and rode off with Fitzwilliam, Darcy found himself replaying the moment in his mind. Elizabeth's calm composure and her thoughtful suggestions had stirred something within him—not hope, precisely, but an unsettling mix of curiosity and doubt. Was she truly indifferent, or had he underestimated the complexity of her feelings? For now, he couldn't afford the distraction. Anne's well-being demanded his full attention. Still, the image of Elizabeth's quiet resolve followed him, a puzzle he couldn't quite leave behind.
Darcy returned to his usual routine, retracing the steps of the previous day with mechanical precision. However, when his visit to the parsonage concluded, a new thought took hold. He resolved to inform Anne of Elizabeth's willingness to assist with remedies. The prospect of involving Elizabeth in Anne's care felt significant, though he wasn't entirely certain why.
When he found Anne resting in her favorite chair, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, he hesitated briefly. She looked up as he entered, a hint of curiosity in her pale eyes. Darcy crossed the room slowly, taking in the calm of the moment, but before he could speak, Anne broke the silence.
"It seems you've developed quite the admiration for Miss Bennet," Anne remarked suddenly, her tone light yet probing.
Darcy stiffened, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "Admiration? It is simply a matter of practicality. Elizabeth's knowledge could be beneficial."
Anne's smile widened, but she didn't press further. Instead, she shifted the conversation, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"Well, if I do marry," she said with mock seriousness, "it certainly won't be to you."
Darcy blinked in surprise, and then a laugh broke free, one that felt startlingly natural. "Oh? And what is wrong with me?"
Anne chuckled softly, the sound like a whisper of wind. "Absolutely nothing—except that I have no intention of fulfilling my mother's expectations. You, of all people, should know how utterly impossible they are."
Darcy grinned, shaking his head. "That, I cannot argue with. Lady Catherine's plans have always been... ambitious."
"Ambitious?" Anne repeated with a quirk of her brow. "Fitzwilliam, she's been planning our engagement since the moment we were born. She even picked out the china for the wedding breakfast."
Darcy's laugh deepened, and Anne joined him, the sound echoing softly through the room. It was a rare moment of levity between them, one that reminded Darcy of the bond they had shared as children before the weight of expectations had pressed down on them.
"Well," Darcy said at last, his voice still tinged with amusement, "I think it's safe to say that neither of us has any intention of giving her what she wants."
Anne smiled, a genuine warmth in her expression. "Agreed."
Darcy mirrored her smile but noticed her expression shift into quiet contemplation. She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that caught him off guard.
"You've changed, Fitzwilliam," she said softly. "I don't mean just in these last few days—there's something... different about you. You've always been serious, but now, there's something else. A restlessness, perhaps."
Darcy stiffened slightly, a habitual response to scrutiny. "Restlessness? I'm not sure I understand."
Anne's gaze sharpened. "You've been paying attention to Miss Bennet in a way I've never seen you pay attention to anyone else. Ever since Sunday dinner, it's as if your focus has shifted entirely to her."
Darcy turned toward the window, his hand resting lightly on the sill. He knew Anne couldn't possibly understand the depths of what she was observing; for her, only a few short days had passed. For him, nearly a year of endless repetition had laid bare every aspect of Elizabeth Bennet's character, illuminating her wit, her strength, her kindness, and her prejudices in ways that Anne couldn't begin to comprehend.
"She dislikes me," he said quietly, not turning to face her. "Vehemently so."
Anne tilted her head, skepticism flickering across her features. "Are you so certain? I saw her glance your way more than once at Sunday dinner. Dislike is easy to read, Fitzwilliam. It wasn't in her eyes."
Darcy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Perhaps not on Sunday. But by Thursday—by now—she has every reason to despise me. And I have given her ample cause."
"Thursday," Anne repeated, puzzled. "You speak as if you've had countless Thursdays. Has she even had time to form such a deep opinion of you?"
Darcy turned back to her abruptly, his gaze shadowed. "If only you knew," he murmured.
Anne frowned, clearly concerned by the weight in his tone. "You've done nothing but behave with propriety toward her. If you believe she dislikes you, surely it is a misunderstanding. Why do you let it trouble you so?"
He hesitated, unsure how much he could reveal. "Because it matters," he admitted finally. "She matters. Far more than I ever anticipated."
Anne regarded him carefully, her pale features softening with understanding. "Then why not tell her? Or rather, show her? If you care for her as much as you seem to, shouldn't she know?"
Darcy's laugh was bitter. "And what should I say, Anne? That I've spent almost a year reliving this same day, watching her despise me more each time I push too hard? That her wit and charm haunt my every thought, even as her words cut me to ribbons? I doubt that would endear me to her."
Anne blinked, startled by the vehemence in his voice. "A year?" she echoed, confused.
Darcy's expression tightened, realizing he'd said too much. He turned back to the window, unwilling to meet her gaze.
Anne leaned forward slightly, her voice softer now. "You're not making sense, Fitzwilliam. But I can see that you're in turmoil. I wish I could help."
He closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "You can't," he said softly. "No one can."
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them almost palpable. Finally, Anne spoke again, her voice soft but resolute. "If she's as remarkable as you believe, then fight for her, Fitzwilliam. Show her who you truly are—not the man you fear she sees, but the man you wish to be."
Darcy said nothing but inclined his head, the faintest of nods acknowledging her words. He stared out of the window, his thoughts churning as her advice settled into the corners of his mind.
Breaking the silence, Darcy turned back to Anne, his tone careful but deliberate. "You know the Collinses and Miss Bennet are coming to tea this evening?"
Anne nodded lightly. "Yes, Mother informed me. She wants me to engage with Elizabeth Bennet more, though I doubt she means it kindly. Mother sees it as her duty to ensure my social interactions are limited to those she deems useful."
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile at her dry remark. "I stopped by the parsonage earlier today," he said, his voice quieter now, "to speak with Mrs. Collins. I asked her and Elizabeth to help you. Mrs. Collins mentioned Elizabeth's knowledge of herbal remedies. It's something she learned from her grandmother Gardiner. I thought... perhaps she could offer some useful advice."
Anne's brow furrowed slightly, surprise flickering across her face. "You spoke to them about me?"
"I did," Darcy admitted, meeting her gaze evenly. "Your wellbeing is important, Anne. And Elizabeth may have insights that could ease your discomfort."
Anne studied him for a moment, her pale eyes thoughtful. "You're taking quite an interest in my health all of a sudden," she observed, though her tone was more curious than accusing.
Darcy exhaled softly. "Because it's long overdue," he said simply. "I should have done more before now."
Anne's lips curved into a faint smile. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam. Truly."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, then added, "Promise me you'll speak to her. She has a good heart, and she'll want to help."
"I will," Anne said, her voice gentle but firm. "If you've gone to the trouble of arranging this, I'll hear what she has to say."
Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. A maid appeared, curtseying as she announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Collins and party have just arrived, Miss de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine is expecting you in the drawing room."
Anne sighed softly, pressing her hands to the arms of her chair as she prepared to stand. Darcy moved instinctively to assist her, offering his arm. She accepted it with a small nod of thanks.
As they walked together toward the drawing room, Darcy's thoughts churned. Tonight, could bring progress—an opportunity to help Anne.
Anne, for her part, walked with steady determination. Though her ailments still weighed on her, she felt a small spark of hope—hope that Elizabeth's remedies might bring some comfort and hope that her cousin might find the resolution he so desperately sought.
Darcy glanced at Anne as they reached the drawing room doors, offering her a small nod.
Just as Darcy was exhorting Anne to the drawing room, John appeared and Darcy excused himself.
Darcy entered the drawing room late, fresh from delivering the tincture to the Bendrick family. He masked the lingering tension from his hurried ride with his usual stoic demeanor as he took his seat. Across the room, Elizabeth and Anne sat close, speaking in low tones that excluded the rest of the party.
Anne's animated manner caught Darcy's attention. Her pallor seemed softened by her liveliness, her rare smiles and nods giving her a vibrancy he had not seen in years. Yet, his gaze inevitably returned to Elizabeth, who appeared equally engaged. For a moment, he wondered if her frequent glances in his direction were deliberate, though her expression was as inscrutable as ever.
"Mr. Darcy," Lady Catherine's voice broke through his thoughts like the crack of a whip. "One wonders if your tea has become unpalatable. It remains untouched."
Darcy glanced down at the neglected cup and raised it with deliberate composure. "I assure you, Aunt, it is quite satisfactory."
Lady Catherine, appeased, turned to Mr. Collins, who launched into his usual torrent of compliments, leaving Darcy free to refocus on the pair across the room.
Darcy stifled a sigh and turned his attention back to Anne and Elizabeth. He strained to catch a word, a phrase, anything to clue him into their conversation, but the distance and Lady Catherine's incessant chatter made it impossible.
Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she listened to Anne. Something about their exchange seemed to unsettle her, her posture tense, as if bracing for an unwelcome thought. Darcy resisted the urge to close the distance, the half-smile on Anne's lips suggesting a mischievous undertone that might have sparked Elizabeth's confusion.
Elizabeth cast a glance his way, quickly looking away when their eyes met. Darcy's chest tightened. Did she find his presence vexing? Or was it something else—something she herself could not articulate?
Anne leaned toward Elizabeth, her voice too soft for Darcy to hear, but he noted the flicker of surprise in Elizabeth's eyes. Whatever Anne had said, it had drawn Elizabeth's focus entirely.
"Miss Bennet, you are distracted," Anne observed lightly. "I do hope I haven't tired you with my endless questions."
"Not at all," Elizabeth replied quickly, her cheeks coloring. "Your inquiries are thoughtful, and I am happy to assist."
Anne's smile was knowing but gentle. "Then perhaps I ought to thank you for your advice earlier. I rarely have the chance to speak so freely with someone who listens as you do."
Elizabeth returned the smile, though a small pang of guilt settled in her chest. She could not fathom why Darcy's cousin had warmed to her so quickly, nor why the man himself occupied so much of her thoughts when she was so determined to dislike him.
Darcy observed their exchange with a mixture of relief and longing. Elizabeth's engagement with Anne was promising, yet the distance she maintained from him was as pronounced as ever.
When the tea concluded, Elizabeth rose to leave, her curtsy to Lady Catherine practiced and polite. Darcy's returning bow betrayed none of his internal conflict, though his gaze lingered on her retreating figure.
As the others began to disperse, Anne rose carefully. Darcy stepped forward, offering his arm, which she accepted with a quiet nod.
"Miss Bennet seemed attentive," Darcy remarked as they exited the room. "Did you find her suggestions useful?"
Anne's expression remained unreadable, her tone deliberately light. "She offered a great deal of insight, as I expected she would."
"And you think her advice will help?" Darcy prompted, his impatience slipping through.
Anne's lips twitched in amusement. "Perhaps. Though I think we must wait to see the results before involving you further."
Darcy frowned but said nothing. Anne's deliberate vagueness left him both unsettled and oddly reassured.
"You care deeply for her," Anne added suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.
Darcy stiffened. "I care for your well-being, Anne," he said evenly.
Anne's faint smile returned, though her gaze remained steady, piercing. "And yet, it seems her well-being weighs on you just as heavily as mine."
Darcy drew in a sharp breath, his mind racing for a reply, but Anne simply looked at him—expectant, knowing. Then, without another word, she rose and walked toward the window, her movements graceful but deliberate, leaving him standing there.
The ambiguity of her words gnawed at him. What had Elizabeth said to her? Why was Anne keeping it to herself? He clenched his hands briefly, fighting the urge to demand answers. Yet beneath his mounting frustration was a glimmer of something unexpected—an unfamiliar connection to Anne, one he hadn't felt in years.
She had spoken to him not as the fragile cousin he had always sought to protect, but as an equal, teasing out truths he barely acknowledged to himself. It was unsettling, yes, but also strangely grounding. For the first time, Darcy saw her as more than a shadow of her formidable mother.
But that clarity did little to assuage his vexation. Anne was withholding something—something vital—and the weight of it pressed heavily on him as he left her sitting by the window, her back to him.
The corridor felt colder than usual as Darcy made his way to his chambers, his thoughts a tangled knot of irritation, admiration, and determination. If Anne would not share what Elizabeth had said, he would find another way.
The endless repetition of Thursday loomed ahead, but this time, he resolved to approach it differently. Anne might hold her secrets tightly, but Darcy would uncover them, piece by piece, if he must.
For tonight, however, he let his mind settle on the faint glimmers of progress—of Elizabeth's involvement and Anne's unexpected candor. As he extinguished the candle beside his bed, the room fell into darkness, but Darcy's resolve remained undimmed.
A dog barked in the distance, sharp and insistent, carried by the low groan of wind slipping through the slightly open window. Darcy stirred at the familiar sound, blinking against the dim light of dawn. The clock chimed six, its rhythm unrelenting. Thursday again.
Darcy exhaled heavily, rising from the bed with mechanical precision. He didn't need to glance at the faintly melted candle or the neatly arranged desk to confirm the inevitability of another repeating day.
Wentworth entered promptly, bowing as always. "Good morning, sir. Your bath is ready."
"See that John is prepared to leave as soon as I've dressed," Darcy said curtly, his mind already elsewhere.
"Yes, sir."
The morning unfolded as predictably as ever: a brisk bath, John dispatched to London, and Darcy's calculated move to enlist Fitzwilliam. Knocking lightly at his cousin's door, he found Fitzwilliam midway through tying his cravat.
"Darcy," Fitzwilliam said, his tone mildly amused, "You're unusually keen this morning. What's the occasion?"
"I need you to ride with me after breakfast," Darcy stated plainly, ignoring his cousin's teasing.
"To where?" Fitzwilliam's eyebrows arched in surprise. "I thought you had pressing letters to attend to."
Darcy suppressed his irritation, offering only, "This is more important. It concerns a tenant family."
"A tenant family?" Fitzwilliam's skepticism was evident, but his curiosity won out. "Very well, I'll accompany you. But I expect an explanation."
Satisfied, Darcy left his cousin to finish dressing and descended the grand staircase toward the breakfast room. His steps were deliberate, his thoughts racing. Another day. Another attempt.
Miss Anne de Bourgh was already at the table, her pale features softer than usual as she stirred her tea.
"Good morning, Miss de Bourgh," Darcy said, inclining his head as he approached.
"Good morning, Cousin," Anne replied. Her voice held an unusual steadiness, and her gaze lingered on him. "Do help yourself. The eggs are still warm."
Darcy paused, sensing something different in her demeanor but unable to place it. He took his seat, expecting the usual silence, but Anne spoke again.
"Before tea yesterday," she began thoughtfully, "you mentioned something peculiar about reliving the same day. At the time, I dismissed it, but... I've been thinking about it. Isn't that strange?"
Darcy froze, his fork halfway to his plate. She remembered? A glimmer of hope stirred within him. Could it be? Could this day finally be different? Was today Friday?
Before he could respond, Lady Catherine swept into the room, her presence commanding as ever. "Good morning, Darcy. Anne," she said briskly, taking her usual place at the head of the table.
Colonel Fitzwilliam followed close behind, his easy charm a stark contrast to his aunt's sharp authority. "Morning, Cousin," he said with a grin, settling into his seat.
Darcy forced himself to focus on the routine of breakfast, but his thoughts churned. Had Anne truly remembered? Or had she stumbled upon something by chance? The moment to ask her had passed with Lady Catherine's arrival, but the glimmer of possibility remained.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Darcy felt a flicker of cautious optimism.
Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the routine tranquility of the morning. Everyone's eyes turned toward the source of the noise—a footman had dropped a silver serving tray, its contents scattered across the polished floor. The teapot spun on its side, its lid rattling before finally coming to rest.
The man froze, his face pale as he stared at the mess.
Lady Catherine's sharp intake of breath made the tension in the room nearly unbearable. Her voice, imperious and cutting, sliced through the stunned silence. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing at the trembling servant.
"I-I beg your pardon, your ladyship," the man stammered, bending hastily to gather the fallen items.
Before Lady Catherine could unleash her scorn, Fitzwilliam chuckled softly, drawing her attention. "Come now, Aunt. Even the best of us has clumsy moments. Shall we chalk it up to the influence of Rosings' grandeur?"
The familiar exchange played out like a scene from a well-worn play. But this time, as Darcy's eyes drifted to Anne, he noticed something different. Her expression shifted—her wide eyes flickered with recognition, her lips parting as if to speak but no words came. A faint frown tugged at her brows, her hand tightening slightly around her teacup.
Darcy's breath caught. Was it possible? Could Anne remember?
His heart raced as he watched her closely. The rest of the table carried on as though nothing unusual had occurred. Lady Catherine continued to berate the servant, Fitzwilliam shrugged off her ire with his usual good humor, and yet Anne... Anne was grasping something.
Darcy wanted to speak to her, to pull her aside and confirm what he suspected, but Lady Catherine's watchful gaze left no room for private conversations. And even if he could, what would he say? Did Anne's memory extend beyond this moment? Or was it some fleeting sense of déjà vu?
His thoughts churned as he forced himself to sit back in his chair, feigning composure. There were obligations to attend to. Fitzwilliam, oblivious to Darcy's inner turmoil, poured himself another cup of tea, seemingly unfazed by the commotion.
Darcy's gaze lingered on Anne as the footman gathered the last of the fallen items and hurried from the room. Her hand trembled slightly as she set her teacup down, her movements slow and deliberate.
He longed to stay and press her for answers, but his responsibilities called. He had promised Fitzwilliam they would ride out together. And then there was Violet—her rescue had become so ingrained in his routine that he didn't dare risk disrupting it.
Should they stop at the parsonage afterward? His mind raced with possibilities. If Anne remembered, was it possible that others could, too? Elizabeth, Mrs. Collins... but no. Fitzwilliam had shown no sign of recollection, nor had Lady Catherine. Fitzwilliam would have said something if he remembered. Would he not?
The uncertainty gnawed at Darcy, a mixture of hope and fear tightening in his chest. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. First, he would save Violet. Then, perhaps, he would find a way to uncover the truth.
Violet's rescue played out exactly as it had countless times before, the rhythm of it so ingrained in Darcy that he could anticipate each moment before it unfolded. Fitzwilliam rode beside him, his usual mix of amusement and curiosity evident, though he made no comment on Darcy's apparent preoccupation.
The Bendrick family greeted him with the same mixture of gratitude and relief, and Violet's earnest thanks tugged at his heart as it always did.
Was the moment at breakfast real? Had Anne truly remembered? Or was it simply a trick of his exhausted mind, desperate for any sign of progress?
By the time they reached Hunsford Cottage, Darcy's doubt had firmly taken root, though the visit offered a minor deviation from its otherwise predictable script. Fitzwilliam maintained his usual air of easy banter, and the scene in the garden unfolded as it had countless times before. Darcy engaged Mrs. Collins and Elizabeth in conversation regarding remedies for Anne, only for the exchange to be interrupted, as always, by Mr. Collins' bustling arrival. With his characteristic urgency, Mr. Collins insisted the ladies hasten their preparations for tea at Rosings, despite the engagement being yet two hours away.
Darcy's frustration simmered beneath the surface as they returned to Rosings. Despite the weight of his doubts, he felt an undeniable pull—one he couldn't quite explain.
As soon as the necessary pleasantries were complete, Darcy made his way through the halls of Rosings with purpose. He bypassed the library and drawing room, heading straight for Anne's sitting room.
He paused outside the door, his hand resting on the polished wood. For a moment, he hesitated. What if it had all been in his mind? What if Anne greeted him with the same detached politeness she always did, no trace of memory or understanding in her gaze?
He shook the thought from his mind and knocked lightly before entering.
Anne sat by the window, a book open in her lap, though her gaze drifted to the gardens beyond the glass. At the sound of his entrance, she turned, her pale features lighting up faintly.
"Fitzwilliam," she greeted softly, closing her book. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
Darcy stepped into the room, his movements measured. "I wanted to speak with you," he said evenly.
Anne tilted her head, curious. "About what?"
He hesitated, weighing his words. "This morning, you mentioned something unusual at breakfast—something about my comment on reliving the same day."
Her expression shifted, confusion flickering in her gaze before it settled into a frown. "Yes, I recall that," she said slowly, setting the book aside. "At the time, I thought it a jest. But..." She trailed off, her hands folding in her lap as her eyes fell to them.
Darcy stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But now?"
Anne hesitated, her brow furrowing. "Now it feels... different. Like a fog lifting, if only slightly. I recall fragments—nothing clear, but enough to unsettle me."
Darcy's heart quickened, his cautious doubt giving way to tentative hope. "That's more than anyone else has acknowledged," he said softly.
Anne looked up at him, her gaze searching. "What does it mean? Why would I remember when no one else does?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. But it gives me reason to hope."
Anne's lips curved faintly, though the shadow of her doubt lingered. "Hope is fragile, Fitzwilliam. Be careful where you place it."
Darcy nodded, taking a seat across from her. For the first time in countless days, he felt the stirrings of possibility. He studied her, seeking a way to press forward without overwhelming her growing awareness.
"You spoke of fragments," he prompted. "What do you recall?"
Anne's hands tightened in her lap, her expression distant. "It's difficult to describe. Yesterday, at tea, I spoke with Miss Bennet about my health, as you once suggested. I remember her advice—it was thoughtful, something I hadn't considered. But it feels as though that conversation has repeated itself. Not once, but twice. Or perhaps more than that."
Darcy leaned forward, his attention sharpening. "Repeated? How so?"
She frowned, her gaze turning inward. "The setting was the same. Lady Catherine's discourse, Mr. Collins's fawning agreement—unchanging. But Elizabeth's words and my responses... they feel layered. Familiar and yet... not. It's as if different versions of the same moment overlap."
Darcy's pulse quickened. This was more than an anomaly. Her growing awareness might signify a shift in the cycle. He struggled to keep his tone steady. "Do you remember any details—what was different?"
Anne shook her head slowly. "No, only impressions. A vague sense of divergence. I thought I was simply tired, but now..." Her voice trailed off, and she studied him closely. "Now I wonder if there is more to this."
Darcy exhaled, his thoughts racing. Could her growing awareness mean others might begin to notice as well? Or was this singular to Anne? He chose his next words with care.
"Anne," he said carefully, "what you describe aligns with my own experiences. The same events, over and over. But you noticing these differences gives me hope that things can change."
Anne tilted her head, her curiosity sharpening. "Why do you think this is happening? And why to us?"
Darcy hesitated. These questions haunted him, their answers eluding him through every repetition of the day. For now, he offered her a faint, weary smile. "I don't yet know. But perhaps, together, we might discover the reason."
Anne nodded, though her expression remained thoughtful. "If there is truth to this, then Miss Bennet will come to tea again today. Perhaps I could try... steering the conversation differently."
Darcy's heart lifted. "Yes," he said softly. "Perhaps this time will be different."
Anne's gaze turned distant once more, a subtle furrow creasing her brow. "Fitzwilliam," she began hesitantly, "it is Thursday, is it not? Yet..." She hesitated, her hands tightening on the chair's arms. "I feel as though I have lived this day before. And yet, I know I have not."
Darcy leaned forward, his pulse quickening. "What do you mean?"
She sighed softly. "Last Thursday, we had tea with the Collinses. And on Sunday, they joined us for dinner. But I recall tea with them yesterday. Or perhaps the day before. It is all a blur. The same conversation, the same faces, repeating like echoes in a corridor."
"Do you remember anything specific about the tea?" he pressed.
Anne's frown deepened. "Not clearly. It's as though I'm standing amidst overlapping reflections—familiar yet distorted. I recall Mrs. Collins making excuses for Miss Bennet, saying she had a headache and would not attend. But I also remember Elizabeth being here, speaking with me. It's impossible to untangle the truth from the rest."
Darcy's chest tightened. This was no coincidence. Her fragmented memories were more vivid than any he had encountered before. He struggled to temper his hope. "Anne," he said carefully, "do you think these impressions are memories? Or something else?"
She looked at him, her troubled gaze meeting his. "I don't know. They feel like memories—but distorted. How can I recall tea that has not yet occurred?"
Darcy's silence stretched between them. He had no answer, only the fragile hope that her awareness might hold the key to escaping the cycle.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, "today will give us answers."
Darcy sat back, his mind racing. Her words mirrored his own experiences so closely that it sent a chill through him. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of connection, as though he was no longer entirely alone in this strange and endless loop.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, "it is because this day is... unique. You may be perceiving echoes of what has happened—or will happen."
Anne studied him for a long moment, her pale eyes searching his face. "Do you think Miss Bennet will come to tea today?" she asked softly. "And if she does, what should I say to her?"
Darcy hesitated, his throat tightening. "Speak to her as you would, with kindness and candor. If she offers advice, consider it carefully. But..." He paused, struggling with the words. "If anything feels... familiar, tell me."
Anne nodded, though her expression remained distant. "I will try. But, Fitzwilliam," she added quietly, "this is unsettling. If there is something I should know, something you are not telling me—"
Darcy stood abruptly, cutting her off. "Later," he said firmly, though his tone was not unkind. "We will speak more later. For now, let us see what the day brings."
Anne looked as though she wanted to press him further, but she relented with a faint sigh. "Very well," she murmured. "For now."
Darcy inclined his head, the conversation weighing heavily on him. If Anne was beginning to sense the loop, then perhaps there was hope for change—but it also meant the stakes were higher than ever. As he left her sitting room, he resolved to watch the events of the day with even greater care. Perhaps this time, something would break the cycle. Perhaps this time, the day truly could be different.
Darcy entered the drawing room late, having just returned from delivering the tincture to the Bendrick family. His pulse was still quickened from the rush of his ride, but he masked it with his usual stoic demeanor as he took his seat. Across the room, Elizabeth was already seated beside Anne. Their heads were close together as they spoke in hushed tones, their conversation excluding the rest of the room.
It was an image he had seen countless times, yet tonight something was different. Anne, usually reserved and hesitant, appeared more animated, her gestures fluid and expressive as she spoke. Elizabeth, ever poised, seemed unusually thoughtful, her brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes focused intently on Anne. Darcy's chest tightened as he watched them. Was this progress? Or was Anne saying something that might make matters worse?
His aunt's commanding voice pierced his thoughts like an unwelcome storm. 'Mr. Darcy,' Lady Catherine's tone cracked like a whip. 'One wonders if your tea has become unpalatable, as it remains untouched.
Darcy glanced down at the neglected cup and raised it with deliberate composure. "I assure you, Aunt, it is quite satisfactory."
Lady Catherine, appeased, turned to Mr. Collins, who launched into his usual torrent of compliments. Darcy let the noise fade into the background, his gaze shifting back to Anne and Elizabeth. The two were deep in conversation, Anne's usually muted demeanor animated as she leaned closer to Elizabeth. Elizabeth, for her part, listened intently, occasionally nodding or interjecting with what Darcy imagined were thoughtful remarks.
For a moment, Darcy's chest tightened. Was Anne finally taking his advice? Elizabeth's quiet composure and Anne's rare vibrancy hinted at progress. But as Anne spoke again, her voice too soft to hear, Elizabeth's expression shifted. A faint furrow appeared between her brows, her lips pressing together briefly before she glanced Darcy's way. The look was fleeting, but it unsettled him deeply. Was she confiding her reservations about him to Anne? Or did she see something in his cousin's words that gave her pause?
Darcy's thoughts circled relentlessly. He wanted to believe that this moment might signal change—that Anne's willingness to engage and Elizabeth's evident focus could lead to something new. But how many times had he clung to such fragile hopes, only to wake to the same Thursday morning? Each repetition chipped away at his resolve, leaving him questioning whether any action of his truly mattered.
Lady Catherine's voice cut through the air once more, sharp and commanding, forcing Darcy to wrench his attention back to the room at large. Mr. Collins responded with an eager laugh, his obsequiousness filling the space like an unwelcome fog. Darcy's hands tightened on the arms of his chair as he fought to contain his frustration. The cycle mocked him with its predictability, trapping him in an endless loop where every effort to steer events felt futile.
The evening dragged on. Darcy's attempts to focus on Anne and Elizabeth bore little fruit; their words were muffled by the distance and the din of the drawing room. Eventually, the gathering came to its expected conclusion, and the Collinses rose to take their leave. Elizabeth offered her polite curtsy to Lady Catherine before departing, her expression composed but unreadable. Darcy inclined his head in return, masking the turmoil within.
After escorting Anne back to her sitting room, Darcy lingered by the fireplace. Anne eased into her favorite chair, the lamplight casting a soft glow over her pale features. She looked at him expectantly, though her expression held a trace of weariness.
"Miss Bennet seemed particularly attentive tonight," Darcy began, keeping his tone deliberately casual. "Did you find her advice useful?"
Anne regarded him for a moment before answering. "She is knowledgeable, as you said she would be. Her suggestions are practical and well-considered. I've no doubt they could help."
"And yet," Darcy prompted, sensing hesitation.
Anne's lips twitched into a faint smile. "And yet, I've chosen to keep some matters private. Certain topics are not fit for discussion, even in such intimate company." Her tone carried an edge of offended modesty, though it softened as she added, "If there is something I need, I will ask tomorrow."
Darcy's frustration flared, though he tempered it with effort. "Tomorrow may not come, Anne," he said, his voice low but insistent. "At least, not in the way we might hope."
Anne's gaze sharpened, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "You speak as though time itself conspires against us. Tell me, Fitzwilliam, why does this matter trouble you so?"
He hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Because it is within my power to help, and yet I find myself obstructed at every turn. If you would simply tell me what you discussed—"
Anne's expression softened, and she held up a hand to stop him. "I will not… because I cannot. Not tonight. But, Fitzwilliam," she added gently, "I do understand your concern. And I promise you, should I require assistance, I will seek it."
Her words, though kind, left Darcy no less restless. He inclined his head in reluctant acceptance. "Very well. But remember, Anne, it will be Thursday again. Perhaps then, you might consider my offer more seriously."
Anne's faint smile returned, though she said nothing further. The silence between them stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts and mutual understanding. Darcy finally turned and left her sitting room, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders.
As he retired to his chambers, Darcy's mind churned. He had gained no answers, only more questions. Yet Anne's growing self-awareness and willingness to engage left a glimmer of hope amidst his mounting frustration. Perhaps tomorrow—or the next Thursday—would bring clarity.
For now, he could only prepare to face the dawn and the inevitable chime of the clock, heralding yet another unrelenting Thursday.
So, Anne remembers somewhat but is still stubborn about societies norms and won't tell him what Elizabeth said. Thoughts? I try really hard to write the others the same and yet I find myself sometimes slipping, most of the time I mean for the slip but I have also caught in reviewing the chapters before posting them so inconstancies, and I tried to fix them but I may miss one or two, with no beta's or editor just me...it is possible. I also once slipped writing ahead and then going back to edit...I once almost slipped and put in a big spoiler for something a few chapters a head.