“I have never been thus treated in my entire life!” She blustered and slammed the door behind her, causing Miss Elizabeth to flinch.
“William, you should leave as well. I will see to Miss Bennet. Go find her sister.”
“Very well.” He had all but forgotten their conversation from only moments before. Darcy told a footman to find the girls and bring them to Anne. He then walked to the family wing and his own chambers, practicing all restraint not to slam his own door.
* * *
“And this woman, this former lady’s maid…”
“Mrs. Smith is her name.”
“Yes,” Lady Catherine said evenly. “This Mrs. Smith has come to Pemberley to claim that this letter from your mother, with your mother’s signature, is not what she wrote?”
“Yes, Lady Catherine,” Darcy said. He stared out into the night sky with his back to her, his words clipped. “And I believe her.”
Lady Catherine walked to his side and stared out the window. “And why would you not wish to believe her? You have never wanted to marry Anne.”
“That is not entirely true, madam. I would ask you to top giving credence to ideas which are not mine.”
“Now, now. Watch that tone with me, young whelp. I am almost your closest living relative and am doing what is best for you.” Darcy did not respond and she seemed to soften her tone. “Well, then. Believe what you will, but I know you! No young man wants to have someone dictate his future for him. You are a man in his majority. The master of one of the most powerful estates in England.”
Darcy slowly turned to her, surprised by her response.
“You and Anne are formed for each other. You are descended from the same noble line. And your fortunes are splendid. You are destined for each other by the voice of your dear departed mother and my own in her stead. There are women of your acquaintance with much more beauty. Much more knowledge of the world. But, we had the foresight to plan this alliance to protect the family.”
“But Mrs. Smith said…”
“Mrs. Smith is a doddering, old woman who does not remember one day from the next. She would have no true memory of what your mother asked her to write. But, she does not have to remember because this letter, right here, I wrote, as you know. Your mother and I corresponded for weeks as to our hopes. And then, she became ill, and I had to rush to Pemberley with my only copy. She barely had the strength to sign.
“Here. Read it for yourself again. Read it and see how much your mother loved you. And wanted to protect you, Georgiana, and Pemberley for future generations. It is all right here.”
She handed him the letter he had seen only twice before: the first, at Rosings when he was fifteen years old and his father had sent him for Easter with his cousin Richard; and the second, shortly after his father’s death five years ago, as if to remind him of his loyalties. But this letter appeared often in his dreams: the black ink forming thin, precise letters, his mother’s broken seal. He would dream of the letter on a desk, or consigned to a field as he rode his horse, or the most recent yet disturbing, in the hands of Miss Elizabeth Bennet as she sat in his library, smiling at him over the pages.
Darcy took the letter, walked to the window.
My son,
You are aware of the illness that is taking over my body. I regret I will not last to see you grow up into a man. Know that I love you, that you are most important to me, as is Georgiana.
You will inherit Pemberley, and all its holdings, however, I have instructed my sister to ensure my Matlock inheritance go to Georgiana. I fear your father is not in support of this, and I beg of you not to discuss it with your him as our wishes do not align.
My sister and I believe the best course of action to ensure the felicity of your future is to marry your cousin, my namesake, Anne. She is a dear girl who will make you a wonderful wife. This is my dying wish, that the houses of de Bourgh and Darcy be united long into the future through you. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than looking down on our family and knowing that not only was it secure, but also that you loved me enough to honor my final wish.
All my love,
Your mama,
Lady Anne Darcy
“It seemssuch a formal way to end such a letter.” He raised his head to meet Lady Catherine’s gaze. “Something just seems amiss…something that I cannot see clearly.”
“Darcy, I presume I have not been the most affectionate aunt, but you are the son of my only sister—my baby sister. Allow that I understood her wishes for you more than a servant. Do not dishonor me so.”
“But I still—”
“Yes, yes I suppose the letter is a bit formal. However, she feared it would be contested and therefore made it as such. She loved you and wanted you and our dear Anne to not worry about your future. Can you not see?”
Darcy knew that he could not, no matter what his heart wanted, reject the dying wish of his mother.
