“I have been thinking of offering for Anne. At least, I thought I might gain your advice on the subject. Possibly, had you stayed at Rosings for a time, I might have joined you there, that I might gain your influence in convincing Lady Catherine that the idea is in her best interests, as well as her daughter’s.”
This idea was nearly shocking to Darcy. Of course, Anne was a wealthy heiress, or would be, so long as her mother did not run the estate into the ground. It was well known that the colonel would get very little from his parents.
“There is no question but that it would be the very best Anne could hope for,” he said carefully.
Anne’s spinsterhood was not entirely her fault, but she was less than desirable for so many reasons. Not only did she possess little wit, charm nor address, she had no interest in acquiring any. One might suppose that she was overwhelmed by the intensity of her mother’s influence, but that was not entirely the case either. She was, in fact, her father’s daughter—quiet, disinterested, and fonder of horses than people. Like Sir Lewis, she suffered from complaints of belly and heart, and when she did speak, it was of her medical issues she addressed. “However, forgive me for saying it, but…youcould certainly expect someone…”—Darcy struggled to find words not entirelydamning to Anne—“…healthier. What of Lord Roden’s daughter—I thought you might hold some interest in her?”
“I considered her,” he said, and then he laughed humourlessly. “Or, to be perfectly honest, she considered me. But I think she has decided she could do better. She is paying attention to Montclair these days.”
“If not her, then someone else.”
Fitzwilliam smoothed his short beard. “I hate the blasted marriage mart, Darcy. If I never again attend a ball with the express purpose of analysing who is out, whose settlement is ample and whose hopes are few, wondering howIappear tothem—cap in hand, a supplicant for fortune, a kept man—it will be none too soon for me.”
Roden’s daughter had, obviously, deeply hurt his cousin’s pride. “You would be a fine husband, and she is a fool for looking elsewhere. Any lady lucky enough to earn your regard is a privileged woman indeed. Montclair is an idiot, a mere child, and not half the man you are.”
The colonel made a show of propping his feet up on the footstool, rather than responding to this remark. Darcy poked at the coals with the fireiron, struggling to furnish further points of argument.
“The thing is,” Fitzwilliam said at last, “with Anne, I know what I am getting. She knows what she has in me. I would take her to Matlock until Lady Catherine dies—I couldnotreside with that woman—and who knows but what living away from her mother might do to improve her character. When we do have to be at Rosings?—”
“Which shall be far more often than you suppose,” Darcy interrupted, latching onto this saliant point. “Lady Catherine requires a heavy hand in order to keep her from driving away her best people and spending money unwisely.”
“Yes, I have seen how you struggle with her. I am not afraid of her, Darcy. With the authority of marriage, I could ease the burden she has become to you. It only makes sense. I owe you that.”
“Do not marry Anne in repayment of a non-existent debt!”
The colonel waved this off. “It is not like that between us, I know. But I would be a better friend to you, were I not also a drain on your pocketbook every time I need a new mount.”
“You have never been a drain, nor asked much of me. Your companionship is all that a friend’s should be, and I beg you to make your decision without any concern for encumbrance between us.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, seeming to wish the subject closed, and Darcy wondered what else he could say. It was beyond odd—that in a single morning, one friend should accuse him of not caring enough, whilst the other was willing to sacrifice his future for him.
“I would see you happy, Fitzwilliam—above any and all other considerations.”
The colonel smiled, a little hollowly. “I wish the same for you. I will decide nothing today, I promise. Now, talk to me of something else. Anything else. In your letter, you mentioned that you were recently returned from Hertfordshire.”
Of course, Elizabeth—never far from his thoughts—immediately came to mind. It seemed that she accompanied him during every waking moment, an obsession that he knew he needed to crush and yet seemed helpless to prevent. It went against the grain to speak of her, but he could hardly help himself, given such an opening.
“I have wrestled with the idea of happiness myself,” he admitted. “Whilst visiting Bingley, I met a young lady. Unique, witty, spirited, beautiful, engaging, charming—I could apply any number of favourable descriptors to her.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam straightened at this, obviously distracted from his own troubles. Encouraged, the dam was released, and for the first time, Darcy gave vent to his feelings for Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a country gentleman. His sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—and of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with great warmth. Such was the strength of feeling which speaking of her engendered, he could not remain seated, finding it necessary to pace the length of his library throughout his animated disclosures.
“I can only imagine the conversation, were I to introduce her to the earl as my bride. ‘See here, Matlock. I have brought you a girl whose mother is the daughter of a solicitor, and who possesses a dowry of a thousand pounds—once the mother dies, of course.’ He would laugh in my face. No, worse—he would express his severest disappointment.”
The sound of an oath startled him from his frantic pacing. His cousin stood, white-faced.
“This is it, is it not? What you truly think of me. I thank you for explaining it so fully—I do appreciate your honesty.”
Darcy frowned, taken aback. “I am speaking of Elizabeth, not you.”
“Are you really? If this Elizabeth possessed Bingley’s fortune, might not her ill-mannered family be overlooked, as you so frequently overlook Hurst’s drunkenness and his sisters’ ceaseless gossiping?”
A shaft of annoyance struck Darcy, but he did not wish to argue the point. He tried to explain.
“You have not met the Bennets. The situation of her mother’s family, though objectionable, is nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by Mrs Bennet, by Elizabeth’s three younger sisters, and occasionally even by her father.”
The colonel’s lip curled. “Oh-ho, then. I suppose you have never seen a relation to any of your titled friends participating in activities unbecoming a gentleman? Since when has the bad behaviour of a family member disbarred your friendship to another? Be honest with yourself Darcy, and be honest with me. It is the money, and only the money, which prevents your admiration for this woman from strengthening into love.”
“You are speaking absurdities! It is one thing when a friend’s parent shows some awful habit, and quite another when it is your own wife’s family.”
