21
LIFTING THE LID
Darcy found it was all he could do, to take her arm again as if there was only politeness between them. She was such a mixture of beauty and strength—a different type of beauty than her sister’s more showy comeliness. Mrs Collins’s attractions were obvious, the most eye-catching blooms, roses tamed to the trellis to create a picture-perfect display, whereas Elizabeth was the forget-me-nots thrusting up from ground: less cultivated, resilient, exquisite, a sudden surprise, a gift—just in the place where one expected nothing. What had Stoke’s housekeeper said of her? ‘Steady and unshakeable’—and yes, those were apt descriptors. But everything else about her was attractive as well, from the pure softness of her complexion to an immensely pleasing figure no longer disguised by an ugly garment. He wanted her with every fibre of his being, with every moment his fascination growing.
Yet Elizabeth was concerned about the potential effect upon him, upon their own love, of her sillier relations. It wastime, he knew, to reveal his own Pandora’s box, that she might properly evaluate the potential effects of his relations uponherhappiness.
“You have been very honest with me regarding your family. Before you decide for or against me, there are things you should know about me and mine,” he began, feeling all the hesitancy of exposure.
She looked up at him, her expression neutral, but her eyes—oh! those enchanting eyes!—warm with affection.
“My estate is in Derbyshire, in the heart of the Peak District, and, I admit, that is where my heart is also. Pemberley is…magnificent, rugged, full of natural beauty and yet a jewel within its landscape. The land, nearly two thousand acres, has been in my father’s family for over three hundred years. I find myself anxious to show it to you, for you to see it and share it with me. I would ensure, if you accept me, that a settlement is in place which protects you. Never would I permit what Ashwood allowed to happen. However…not everything I offer is so splendid.”
She glanced over at him, nodding. “Wealth does not mean everything would be easy, you mean. Your family would not approve?”
“It is unlikely that they would approve ofanyone, no matter who I chose. I have an aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—my mother’s sister—who has a daughter, Anne. My parents, most especially my mother, very much wanted me to consider Anne for matrimony. My father agreed that the marriage made sense financially, as she is an heiress of a considerable property in Kent.”
“You are, in their minds, already betrothed?” He felt the tension in her arm as she asked the question.
“No, of course not,” he assured her quickly. “They knowof my refusal. It was a wish for my consideration, that is all. When I was young, however, I simply took marriage to her as a given, without really thinking about it—except perhaps as a connexion that could be accomplished at very little trouble to myself. I suppose the idea of pleasing my parents was also an agreeable one.”
“As someone who married solely to please my parents, I cannot fault you for the sentiment.”
He pressed her arm more tightly to him. “You had very little choice in the matter. I was fortunate to be given more than that, and as I matured, it became obvious to me that the match could never take place.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Anne is…is different. She is very much like her father, who was moody, temperamental. I do not think she can help it. Her father was Sir Lewis de Bourgh; you might possibly have heard of him—he was quite well known, in some circles, for his portraiture. A slight man, he was often ill, and did not live much past forty. She is thin and sickly, just as her father was. I find it unlikely that she could survive childbed. Beyond that, I have no feeling for her, besides pity and familial association.”
She nodded again, not commenting.
“As a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy, I neglected to disabuse anyone of the notion, however.” They walked farther on the path, edging the forested land of the park where the greenery was untamed, the gardeners ceasing their efforts to discipline it, only preventing it from encroaching upon the more cultivated sections. “Marriage seemed, to me, a thousand years away. There was no hurry, I thought; anything could happen. Anne is an heiress. She might meet someone else who appealed to her.”
“You avoided the problem, and hoped it would go away.” She squeezed his arm, as if to take the sting from her very truthful words.
“Yes. I did not know or realise that Anne had been, during this time, coming to an opposite conclusion. Encouraged by her mother, I believe, she was actively building a fantasy in which we would marry. One in which we were already, or nearly so, betrothed.”
A path branched off into the woods, one he had travelled before, and leading to an agreeable overlook; he veered them towards it.
“How did she respond when she learnt you were not of the same mind?”
He hesitated.
“She does know, does she not? You said that your family is aware.”
“They know, yes. Whether or not she does? It is difficult to say.”
Elizabeth looked at him, and he could see the questions in her eyes.
“Her father died when I was in my eighteenth year. Anne took it very hard, taking to her bed for weeks. I told my father, then, that I would never marry her. It was not her grief—I did not blame her for that. It washer. There is something…something wrong with her, beyond her sullen character. They hired a woman as her companion, one who treats her as if she is approximately aged five, and thissuitsher. I feel sorry for her, but she cannot possibly be a wife—not to anyone. My father agreed, but asked me to wait to inform Lady Catherine, at least until she was able to recover somewhat from her own grief. I waited. My mother took ill within a six-month. She died when I was nineteen. Lady Catherinewas devastated by the loss of her sister. Again, I waited—although I did not act at all lover-like, avoiding them both instead. It seemed my best option. My father, Georgiana, and I went to Rosings Park—their estate—at Easter during my twentieth year. I knew the waiting must be finished, as I could not stand any more of my aunt’s hints.”
“You informed Lady Catherineandher daughter?”
“Yes. I apologised for my delay in doing so, but assured them both that while I cared deeply for their happiness, it was not the caring of a husband. I made plain that I never meant to marry Anne, and that if either had expectations of me, those must be set aside.”
“How was your news received?”
He sighed, deeply, forcefully. “The conversation was awkward. After my aunt failed to convince me otherwise, she tried to persuade my father to pressure me to come round. He gently refused. I was resolute. Anne simply kept repeating one word: ‘No’. Over and over again, in an unceasing refrain. ‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no.’ She started out whispering it, but it built, and built, and built until it was a scream, an endless, terrifying scream. Eventually, she had to be sedated. She simply would not—I think,couldnot—stop screaming.”
