I liked how one commenter said Lady Catherine I went another way, I hope you like the direction I chose to go instead. This is still a WIP I am working on chapter 19 right now and from my rough outline I wrote I have about 10 more chapters to go though I may combine a few and make it less or something inspires me and I may make it more. If I finish, I will start posting every day, but for now I like the gap and will still post every other day or every day 1/2. Thank you to all the commenters.
FIREROSE: I am OCD, AuDHD so I probably do what you said with this story and with it on repeat, its harder still, I try not to be so, perhaps when I review it if I have that hyper focus in mind I can minimize it, but as I wrote about I am on Chapter 19, I do try to review the chapter I am posting before posting it. I also have no editor but me...not a good thing. But I get what you are saying cause I am the same way about reading a story if it becomes to repetitive I start scanning and missing stuff. I will try to do better from here out...no promises. But thank you for reading anyways.
Janfamily4: I just want to say I loved your comments they are always so encouraging.
As for the first two commenters on chapter 8, that was a Freudian slip, which has been corrected, of a concept that will be occurring soon in the story but not by that character.
Chapter 9 Seeking Anna
"Good morning, Anna," Darcy said, inclining his head politely as he entered the dining room.
"Good morning, Cousin," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She gestured lightly toward the sideboard, where the morning's offerings were laid out. "Do help yourself. The eggs are quite warm still."
Darcy paused for a moment, struck by her quiet demeanor. The warmth in her tone was fleeting, her expression subdued. Anna de Bourgh had always seemed like a shadow in her own home, overshadowed by the imperious presence of Lady Catherine. Yet something about the way she carried herself this morning—tentative yet gracious—reminded Darcy of something he'd overlooked: Rosings belonged to her.
Officially, the estate was still under Lady Catherine's control, but Darcy realized that Anna was the rightful mistress of Rosings. Perhaps, given the right encouragement, she might assert herself.
Darcy sat across from her, forgoing the food for now. "Anna," he began carefully, "have you given any thought to your role here at Rosings?"
She looked up, her pale eyes widening slightly. "My role?" she echoed, her hands resting demurely in her lap.
"Yes," Darcy said, leaning forward slightly. "You are its rightful owner. Its future depends upon your decisions, not your mother's. You have a voice, Anna, even if it has been overshadowed."
Anna hesitated, her gaze dropping to the tablecloth. "My mother believes she knows what is best for Rosings," she murmured, her words barely audible. "And she... she is not inclined to relinquish control."
Darcy's brow furrowed. "And what do you believe?"
Anna hesitated again, her fingers twisting a delicate napkin ring. "I..." She faltered, glancing nervously at the doorway as if Lady Catherine might appear at any moment. "I wish to do what is right, but I fear I lack the strength to oppose her."
Darcy leaned back, his expression softening. "Perhaps, then, the key is not to oppose her directly but to find a way to influence change subtly. The tenants, for instance. Have you considered their well-being?"
Her eyes darted up to meet his, a flicker of interest breaking through her usual timidity. "The tenants? Do you think they... they require assistance?"
"Yes," Darcy said, sensing an opening. "There are families who are struggling, families who could benefit from thoughtful management and compassion. It is within your power to make their lives better."
Anna opened her mouth as if to respond, but before she could speak, the door swung open with a heavy creak.
Lady Catherine entered, her presence as formidable as ever. "Good morning, Darcy," she announced, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. Her sharp eyes swept over her daughter. "Anne, why are you looking so pale? Have you eaten anything at all?"
Anna's face turned even paler, her hands trembling slightly as she folded them in her lap. "Yes, Mother," she replied softly, her gaze fixed downward.
Lady Catherine huffed, taking her place at the head of the table. "See that you eat properly. A delicate constitution is no excuse for neglecting one's health. Darcy, have you been speaking of anything of consequence this morning?"
Darcy forced a polite smile. "Nothing of particular note, Lady Catherine," he replied, his tone carefully neutral.
Anna caught his eye briefly, an almost imperceptible apology in her expression. Darcy inclined his head slightly, understanding the unspoken message: their conversation was over for now.
The rest of breakfast passed in strained silence, with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation as she often did, issuing complaints and directives as though the world revolved solely around her will. Darcy said little, his thoughts elsewhere.
When the meal concluded, he excused himself quickly, his mind returning to Violet and her family. Whatever Anna might have been about to say would have to wait. For now, there were other matters that demanded his attention.
Darcy left the dining room with purposeful strides, his mind racing. The brief conversation with Anna had planted a seed. Though it had been interrupted, her willingness—albeit hesitant—to consider the tenants had ignited something in him. She might lack the strength to act openly against Lady Catherine, but perhaps together, they could make quiet changes.
For now, however, his thoughts were on Violet.
The image of the girl clinging to the tree flashed in his mind—the sheer terror in her wide eyes, the trembling of her small hand as she reached for his. She had trusted him completely, even in the face of danger, and her bright, lively nature lingered in his thoughts.
Darcy mounted his horse with a sense of urgency, the crisp morning air biting at his face. As he rode toward the Bendrick cottage, he replayed the events of the previous day. Her resemblance to Elizabeth still unsettled him, but it wasn't just her appearance that intrigued him. There had been something about her—her sharp wit, her inquisitive mind, her courage. She was young, yes, but already so perceptive.
And then there was the voice.
"Do not lose hope. Not all is lost. Have faith."
The memory sent a shiver through him. He had questioned Violet about it, but her bewildered expression had convinced him she hadn't spoken those words. If not her, then who? He couldn't explain it, but the phrase had rooted itself in his thoughts, a lifeline thrown to him in his darkest hour.
As before, Darcy spotted Violet near the tree, though this time, she was climbing once again, her small frame hidden among the bare branches. She appeared unaware of the danger, humming a tune to herself as she reached for a higher branch.
Darcy's pulse quickened. Not again, he thought.
"Violet!" he called sharply.
Startled, she looked down. Her footing slipped just as it had the day before.
This time, Darcy was ready. He spurred his horse forward, guiding it beneath the falling girl. As she tumbled, he stood in the stirrups, stretching his arm upward. He caught her just in time, her weight nearly unseating him, but he held firm, clutching her to his chest as his horse came to a skidding halt.
Violet gasped, her arms tightening around his neck. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence broken only by the pounding of the horse's hooves and Darcy's own rapid breathing.
When she finally pulled back to look at him, her wide eyes were filled with awe. "You saved me!"
Darcy smiled faintly, relief washing over him. "Again," he muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, dismounting and setting her on the ground. He knelt to her level, brushing dirt from her skirt. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. "No, but—" She paused, looking at him curiously. "You were so fast! How did you know I was going to fall?"
Darcy hesitated. How indeed? He could hardly explain the truth.
"Lucky timing," he said finally.
As he checked her over for injuries, Violet tilted her head, a thoughtful frown crossing her face. "I thought I heard something... when you caught me."
Darcy's heart skipped a beat. "What did you hear?"
"A voice. Like... like the wind," she said slowly. Her young face was a picture of concentration, as though trying to recall a half-forgotten dream.
Darcy felt a chill creep up his spine. "What did it say?"
Her brows furrowed. "I don't know. I thought it said something, but..." She shook her head. "Maybe I imagined it."
Darcy's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, his voice low. "Violet, are you sure you didn't say anything?"
She blinked at him, confusion plain on her face. "Me? No, I didn't say anything."
The words "Do not lose hope. Not all is lost. Have faith" echoed in Darcy's mind. He released her shoulder, leaning back on his heels. "Never mind," he said softly. "It's not important."
They walked together toward the Bendrick cottage, Darcy leading his horse and keeping a careful eye on Violet. Though she wouldn't remember their previous meeting, she fell into conversation with him easily, her natural curiosity and charm filling the gaps in his thoughtful silences.
"What's your horse's name?" she asked, skipping ahead of him.
"Ajax," he replied.
"Like the hero in the Iliad?"
Darcy stopped short, raising an eyebrow. "You've read Homer?"
Violet shrugged, looking faintly smug. "Not all of it. Papa read us some of the stories, but I liked the ones about Achilles more. Ajax was too proud."
Darcy chuckled. "And what do you think of me, Miss Violet? Am I too proud?"
She tilted her head, considering him seriously. "Not today," she said finally. "But maybe a little."
When they reached the cottage, Darcy's thoughts turned to the unanswered questions that had plagued him since yesterday. The home looked much the same as it had before—tidy, modest, and strangely at odds with the financial difficulties he had discovered in Lady Catherine's records.
"Does your mama keep the house so neat every day?" he asked casually.
Violet nodded. "Mama says that just because we don't have much doesn't mean we can't take care of it. She's very smart, you know."
"And your father?"
Her smile faltered slightly. "Papa works very hard too. But he's been tired lately... because of Tommy."
"Your youngest brother?"
She nodded solemnly. "He's sick a lot. Mama says it's his lungs. Sometimes he can't breathe, and they have to stay up all night with him."
Darcy's chest tightened. He hadn't expected her to confide so much, but the information only deepened the puzzle. The Bendricks weren't neglectful or irresponsible; they were fighting an uphill battle against circumstances beyond their control.
He crouched down, meeting Violet's gaze. "If there were a way to help your family, would you want me to?"
Her face lit up. "Could you? Really?"
Darcy hesitated. In truth, he didn't know how much he could do within the confines of the unchanging day, but he resolved to try.
"I will see what I can do," he promised.
As Darcy rode back to Rosings, his mind churned with possibilities. The Bendricks were not the first tenants to suffer under Lady Catherine's rigid rule, but they had become a symbol for something greater.
Violet's resilience, her bright intelligence, and her unwavering hope despite her family's struggles stirred something deep within him. He couldn't undo the endless loop or change the past, but perhaps he could make a difference—if only for a day.
With that thought, he rode on, his purpose clearer than it had been in weeks.
Darcy returned to Rosings with determination. The morning's ride and his encounter with Violet had given him clarity of purpose, but he knew he could not proceed blindly. If he was to make a meaningful change in the lives of the Bendrick family—and perhaps others like them—he needed more information.
He sought out Anna in her sitting room, a place she rarely left except for meals. The soft glow of the fire illuminated her pale complexion as she sat curled in a chair, a book resting lightly on her lap. For once, she looked less wan, her color improved ever so slightly.
"Good afternoon, Anna," Darcy said, bowing slightly as he entered the room.
She looked up, a faint smile gracing her lips. "Fitzwilliam. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was hoping for a conversation," he said, taking a seat across from her. "If you are feeling up to it."
Anna set the book aside and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I am well enough. What is on your mind?"
Darcy hesitated for a moment, considering how to frame his inquiry. "I've been thinking about the tenants," he began cautiously. "Particularly the Bendrick family. It seems they have fallen behind on their rent, yet their home is orderly, their children well-mannered. It struck me as... unusual."
Anna tilted her head, studying him. "And what do you hope to glean from this?"
"I hope to understand their circumstances better," Darcy admitted. "Perhaps there is a way to assist them, though I must confess I do not yet know how."
Anna regarded him thoughtfully. "It is not the local apothecary or the overseer who tends to the tenants' needs most directly," she said after a moment. "If you wish to know more, you might consider speaking with Mrs. Collins."
Darcy blinked, caught entirely off guard. "Mrs. Collins? Charlotte?"
Anna nodded. "She is far more involved than one might assume. While Mr. Collins occupies himself with his sermons and his garden, Charlotte has taken a quiet but active role in the welfare of the tenants. She does not boast of her efforts, but I have heard from several families that her assistance has been invaluable."
This revelation left Darcy momentarily speechless. He had always regarded Charlotte as sensible and pragmatic—qualities that had led her to accept Mr. Collins' proposal despite its obvious drawbacks. But to hear that she had taken on the tenants' welfare without recognition or praise spoke of a deeper strength of character.
"I... had no idea," Darcy admitted.
"Few do," Anna said softly. "She would prefer it that way."
Before Darcy could press further, the door swung open, and Lady Catherine swept into the room, her presence commanding as always.
"Anna," she declared, her tone hovering between concern and impatience. "You look positively drained. Why are you not resting?"
Anna's pale face flushed slightly. "I am quite well, mother."
Lady Catherine ignored her, turning her sharp gaze to Darcy. "And you, nephew, what are you doing here? Surely you have more important matters to attend to than idling in the sitting room."
Darcy rose, bowing respectfully but tersely. "I was merely inquiring after Anna's health."
"Well, she does not need your inquiries," Lady Catherine said briskly. "Anna, come with me. I have a matter to discuss with you."
Anna cast a glance at Darcy, her lips parting as if to speak, but she said nothing. The moment was lost as she obediently rose to follow her mother.
Darcy watched them go, his jaw tightening. Anna had seemed on the verge of saying something important, but with Lady Catherine present, there was no opportunity to press her further.
Left alone in the sitting room, Darcy felt frustration bubble within him. Lady Catherine's domineering presence was yet another obstacle in his path, one he could not easily circumvent. But he refused to let the moment derail him entirely.
With a sigh, he turned and strode toward the door. There was still the matter of Violet and the Bendricks. If Anna's suggestion was true, then Mrs. Collins might hold the key to understanding their struggles—and perhaps even resolving them.
As he stepped outside, the cool air bracing against his skin, Darcy resolved to seek out Mrs. Colins at the earliest opportunity.
Darcy paused outside Hunsford Cottage, a growing tension winding tight in his chest. The late afternoon sun bathed the modest dwelling in warm light, but the atmosphere was anything but serene. From within, he could hear the rustling of coats and hats, the unmistakable shuffle of Mr. Collins preparing to leave.
Darcy had forgotten about tea.
"Blast," he muttered under his breath.
Emerging from the cottage, Mr. Collins was a flurry of activity, his arms laden with books and papers he clearly deemed vital to his meeting at Rosings. Behind him, Mrs. Collins followed with quiet composure, a basket of embroidery tucked under one arm.
Darcy's gaze flicked past them—and froze.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression cold as stone. Her sharp gaze met his, and the heat in her glare was unmistakable. It was not the teasing fire of her wit he had come to admire but a flame forged in anger and betrayal.
Fitzwilliam, Darcy thought grimly, his jaw tightening. Of course, his cousin had told her.
It felt like years since that conversation in which Fitzwilliam had casually remarked upon Darcy's role in separating Bingley from Jane. To Darcy, it was a memory dulled by time and repetition, but to Elizabeth, the revelation was fresh, raw, and devastating.
He inclined his head toward Mrs. Collins, who gave him a polite smile. "I trust the day finds you well, Mr. Darcy?"
"Well enough," Darcy replied, his tone measured. "Though I had hoped to speak with you regarding the tenants."
Mrs. Collins raised her eyebrows, surprise flickering across her face. "The tenants? Of course, though I'm not sure how much help I can be.
Before Darcy could respond, Mr. Collins interjected, his voice tinged with alarm. "Mrs. Collins, we cannot delay! Lady Catherine abhors tardiness, and we must not risk her displeasure. Perhaps Mr. Darcy could raise the matter with her directly? She is, after all, most knowledgeable and generous when it comes to her tenants."
Darcy's expression darkened at the suggestion, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Mrs. Collins, ever perceptive, caught the flicker of distaste that crossed his face. Her brow furrowed, and she glanced quickly at her husband, then back at Darcy.
"I think," she said gently, "it would be best if we discussed this tomorrow, Mr. Darcy. After all, Lady Catherine's time is best reserved for her own affairs, and we wouldn't want to trouble her with such... details."
Darcy inclined his head in reluctant agreement. "Tomorrow, then," he said, his voice carefully even.
"Excellent," Mrs. Collins replied, though she cast another thoughtful look at Darcy before stepping toward her husband, who was now gesturing impatiently toward the door, his arms laden with books and papers.
Together, the group began their walk to Rosings, Mr. Collins prattling endlessly about the virtues of Lady Catherine's guidance. Darcy, however, remained silent, his mind simmering with frustration. Timing was always his enemy in this unending cycle.
The next day began as so many others had. Darcy woke to the familiar chime of six, dressed, and joined the family for breakfast. The clatter of silverware and Lady Catherine's insistent monologues made the morning feel monotonous, but Darcy clung to his renewed sense of purpose.
After breakfast, he mounted his horse and rode to the grove where he often found Violet climbing trees. As expected, she was there again, her small figure perched precariously on a high branch.
"Violet!" Darcy called, urging his horse closer. The girl turned, startled, and her foot slipped.
Darcy didn't hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, stretching out his arm just as Violet fell. He caught her mid-air, pulling her securely onto his saddle.
"You must stop this habit of falling," he said, setting her safely on the ground.
Violet looked at him, wide-eyed, before breaking into a smile. "Maybe you're just meant to be there to catch me, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy couldn't help but smile as he escorted her home once more. Mrs. Bendrick greeted them with visible relief, her gratitude warm but restrained, as if she didn't want to impose further. Darcy made polite conversation before taking his leave, his mind already turning to his next destination—Hunsford Cottage.
When he arrived, he was relieved to find Mrs. Collins alone, tending to her herb garden. She straightened when she saw him, brushing dirt from her hands.
"Mr. Darcy," she said, her surprise evident. "This is unexpected. What brings you here?"
"I hoped we might speak," Darcy replied, keeping his tone neutral. "I have questions regarding the tenants."
Mrs. Collins's expression turned thoughtful. "The tenants? I'm not sure how much help I can be, but I'll try." She glanced toward the house. "You've caught me at a rare moment alone. Elizabeth is out walking, Mariah is upstairs resting, and Mr. Collins is meeting with Lady Catherine."
"Then it seems I've chosen my timing well," Darcy said, a hint of relief in his voice.
"I hoped we might speak," Darcy said, dismounting. "About the Bendrick family."
Mrs. Collins's expression softened. "Ah, the Bendricks. They've had a hard time of it lately." She gestured toward a nearby bench, inviting him to sit.
Darcy accepted, watching as she returned to her work. "I've noticed their situation does not align with the usual reasons tenants fall behind. They seem industrious."
"They are," Mrs. Collins agreed. "Mr. Bendrick injured himself last year, and without his income, they've struggled to keep up. They barely have enough for food, let alone rent. And with their youngest, little Thomas, being so ill..."
Darcy's brows furrowed. "Ill? How ill?"
"Quite ill, I'm afraid. They can't afford the apothecary's fees, so they've been managing as best they can. I've brought them baskets of food when I could, but…" She sighed. "As a vicar's wife, I'm not well-versed in medicine. I've tried to help with what little knowledge I have, but it hasn't been enough."
"Surely there is someone more skilled who could assist?" Darcy asked, his concern deepening.
Mrs. Collins hesitated, then brightened. "Elizabeth! She has a knack for such things. She's been tending a small herb garden here and experimenting with remedies. I should ask her to visit the Bendricks."
Darcy's gaze sharpened. "Elizabeth?"
Mrs. Collins nodded, her tone warm. "She's quite talented, though she doesn't like to draw attention to her efforts. It's something she picked up from her grandmother Gardiner. If anyone could help little Thomas, it's her."
Before Darcy could respond, the crunch of footsteps on the garden path drew their attention. Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam were approaching from the lane, Elizabeth's cheeks flushed from exertion. She walked slightly ahead of Fitzwilliam, her posture stiff and her expression carefully composed.
"Are you quite certain you're well, Miss Bennet?" Fitzwilliam asked as they neared the garden gate. "You should have let me carry you back."
Elizabeth gave a tight smile. "I assure you, Colonel, I am quite capable of returning under my own power. I merely walked farther than intended, and a rest will suffice."
Her response drew a laugh from Fitzwilliam. "Ah, your pride and independence are admirable, Miss Bennet. Though next time, perhaps a shorter route?"
Elizabeth inclined her head but said nothing, her gaze flickering briefly toward Darcy. Her expression was guarded, though her brow furrowed slightly when she caught Mrs. Collins glancing at him.
"Elizabeth," Mrs. Collins greeted warmly, stepping forward. "Perfect timing! I was just speaking with Mr. Darcy about the Bendrick family, they are tenant famer's for Rosing. Their youngest is terribly unwell, and I wondered if you might—"
"The Bendrick family?" Elizabeth interjected, her surprise evident. Her gaze moved back to Darcy, her expression softening momentarily with curiosity. "I hadn't realized Mr. Darcy took an interest in the tenants' welfare."
Darcy, catching the flicker of emotion in her eyes, inclined his head. "Their situation is dire. I hoped to learn how best to assist them."
Elizabeth blinked, her surprise lingering, but she quickly masked it. "That is most commendable," she said, though her voice lacked the warmth it might have once held.
"Mrs. Collins!" Mr. Collins's voice rang out, interrupting the moment. He emerged from the cottage, a stack of papers in his hands and an air of urgency about him. "We mustn't tarry! Lady Catherine detests tardiness, and we are already behind schedule."
Mrs. Collins sighed, offering Darcy and Elizabeth an apologetic glance before turning to her husband. "Yes, of course, Mr. Collins. I'll be ready shortly."
Darcy hesitated, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth, but before he could speak again, Mr. Collins ushered his wife toward the house. Fitzwilliam turned toward the lane, motioning for Darcy to follow.
"Well, shall we?" Fitzwilliam said lightly.
Darcy nodded, though his gaze remained on Elizabeth. She lingered for a moment, her eyes flicking back toward him as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she turned and walked briskly toward the house, her steps resolute but her expression strained.
As Darcy and Fitzwilliam walked back toward Rosings, the Colonel broke the silence with a light chuckle. "She's remarkable, isn't she? Quick-witted, spirited—though I fear I may have made a misstep earlier."
Darcy's gaze flicked to him. "A misstep?"
Fitzwilliam chuckled again, oblivious to Darcy's tension. "Yes, I thought to highlight your excellent character, Darcy. I told her about how you saved Bingley from an imprudent match. She seemed...struck by it, though I hope I didn't embarrass her by speaking so openly."
Darcy's jaw tightened, and his voice came low and clipped. "You didn't embarrass her, Fitzwilliam. You upset her."
Fitzwilliam's steps slowed, his brow furrowing. "Upset her? How so?"
Darcy exhaled sharply, his frustration at the cycle and his cousin's obliviousness bubbling to the surface. "The person I saved Bingley from," he said evenly, though the weight in his tone was unmistakable, "was her sister."
Fitzwilliam froze, his face draining of color. "Her sister? Oh, good heavens, Darcy. I didn't know—" He ran a hand through his hair, visibly distressed. "I was only trying to help your cause! I thought...well, I thought it might incline her to think better of you. I can see now that I've done precisely the opposite."
Darcy's lips thinned. "I gathered as much."
Fitzwilliam's gaze darted toward him, remorse etched into his features. "I'm sorry, Darcy. Truly. I had no idea. I've been trying to encourage her regard for you. After all, it's obvious how taken you are with her." He hesitated, then added with a wry smile, "You've had that particular gleam in your eye for weeks now—though I suppose I should use a term more suited to your temperament. You're smitten with her."
Darcy shook his head, dismissing the comment. "It hardly matters now, does it? She loathes me, and your well-meaning revelations have only deepened her resentment."
Fitzwilliam grimaced. "I didn't mean to make things worse. I'll speak with her, explain my intention—"
"No," Darcy interrupted sharply. "Leave it be. It is done. She won't believe anything you say now."
His cousin's shoulders sagged in defeat. "What will you do?"
Darcy stared ahead, his thoughts churning. He couldn't change Fitzwilliam's earlier conversation with Elizabeth—not today, at least—but he could prevent it tomorrow. If he managed to steer his cousin away from Elizabeth before their morning walk, it might give him an opportunity to repair the damage.
For now, though, his mind was too scattered, too consumed by the Bendrick family's plight and the lingering tension with Elizabeth. Resolving one problem at a time was his only option.
"I'll handle it," Darcy said finally, his tone curt. Fitzwilliam nodded, though he still looked remorseful.
By the time they reached Rosings, Darcy's resolve had hardened. Tomorrow, he would have to act swiftly—not only to address the Bendricks but to intercept Fitzwilliam and prevent the conversation that continually unraveled his already precarious connection to Elizabeth. Timing, as always, was both his curse and his opportunity.