“Yes, hers has no subtlety whatsoever.”
Anne replied, “Oh yes, I can certainly criticise Mrs Bennet freely, with my mother being so amiable and subtle in her machinations.”
Darcy winced painfully but had to allow the justice of it, wondering why he had been excessively concerned with Mrs Bennet’s manners while blind to his own relatives.
Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Oddly enough, I had a conversation on that very subject with your Miss Elizabeth the day she left.”
Darcy did not relish the sound of that. “She is not my Miss Elizabeth, Richard. I will do everything in my power to make her so, but she is not yet, and very well may never be.”
“Have a little faith in yourself. Once you neutralize your worst enemy, you will do well enough.”
They both knew who his worst enemy was, so there was no reason to belabour the point. There was, however, an item of some curiosity.
Darcy regarded his cousin closely. “How on earth did you end up discussing mercenary mothers with her?”
“Well, I had an idea that you might admire the lady, and she gave me a perfect opportunity to sing your praises. She mentioned your friend Bingley, and I told her how you saved him from a mercenary last winter—unsuitable family, and the like.”
To Richard’s shock—for the first time in their long association, even as boys—the brandy glass in Darcy’s hand flew into the fire and shattered, the spirit igniting with a burst of blue flame that scattered across the flagstones.
“You did what?”
The outburst surprised the colonel. “I merely told her of your good qualities—how you care for your friends, and so forth.”
Darcy started running his fingers through his hair nervously, muttering like an imbecile, his father’s ghost frowning in consternation from behind Richard’s shoulder. George Darcy had a particular way of shaking his head while looking pained and disappointed, which made his son wish he used the belt more often, and the disappointed look less.
He saw his father standing beside Anne, delivering one of his favourites.
A man’s actions have consequences, yours more than most. Make sure you know what you are about. You will be a powerful man, and as Voltaire says, with great power comes great responsibility.
You would do well to start with Hippocrates. First do no harm.
Anne regarded her cousin with alarm, taking hold of his arm. “Darcy, what? What? Did you… Did you… Did you leave something out?”
Feeling the full weight of his shame, along with his father’s disapprobation—and probably his grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s while he was at it—Darcy started muttering to himself, “Selfish… Selfish… Selfish… Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…”
Richard gave a grim laugh. “Can you be more specific?”
Darcy sighed heavily. “I helped persuade him to separate from Miss Jane Bennet. I thought she betrayed no sign of affection, since she regarded Bingley exactly as she did all others; yet she showed every sign of compliance withher shamelessly mercenary mother, who boasted openly and publicly about what an excellent mistress of Netherfield Miss Bennet would make.”
Almost instantly, the brandy glass was not the only thing in peril. Anne’s hand struck Darcy's cheek so hard he feared she might injure herself. She stood inches from his face, screaming far louder than her mother ever had, but certainly no worse than he deserved.
“How could you? How could you! You of all people! YouYou lout! You!!”
Her message delivered, Anne fled across the study to the door, muttering, her anger mounting.
Richard shook his head and rose to follow, intent on ensuring her well-being. He reasoned she would return… eventually… maybe.
Before reaching the door, Anne turned and pointed at his chest, her tone menacing. “Do not follow me. Youboastedof this… to her sister. You… you… you are as bad as he is. Do not talk to me!”
Richard watched her slam the door with gusto and stomp away like a herd of elephants, chagrined by the chastisement, though he was secretly pleased to see his cousin becoming a bit of a spitfire, hoping she might have inherited such spirit from her mother—though ideally with less disagreeableness.
Anne was entering the season now, and her boasts of becoming engaged before she returned were not without merit. He sat for a moment, appearing to muse that his little cousin had finally grown up.
Darcy, having thoroughly destroyed his brandy glass, simply drank from the bottle, handing it back wordlessly when the colonel joined him. They gave up only when the bottle lay empty.
Dancing
Jane was quite satisfied to receive advice from her actual aunt Gardiner in the same room, rather than from her parents’ ghosts, neither of whom was all that helpful.
