He sat down, leaning away from the desk, and rubbed his chin. “Am I falling in love with my accidental wife?” Darcy mused aloud.
Hearing the words ring in his ears jolted him as if out of a stupor. Darcy had been so fixated on his shortcomings, all the things he should have done to prevent his hastily patched-up marriage, that he had not considered the possibility that it could be a blessing. Darcy had already seen many amiable qualities in Elizabeth, and he suspected would continue to discover more as time went on.
He stood up and began to pace. “I suppose there are worse things than falling in love with one’s wife,” he said, and allowed a small smile to tug at his lips.
Suddenly, he turned and went to the desk, writing a brief note to the local seamstress, requesting her to attend to his wife at her earliest convenience. He wanted Elizabeth fitted with her new riding habit as soon as possible.
Darcy was about to leave the study when a footman met him at the door, hand frozen mid-knock. “Oh, sir, I beg your pardon.” He lowered his hand and cleared his throat. “A letter has just arrived for you.”
He held out a silver tray with a letter. “Ah, it is from my cousin. Thank you,” Darcy said, taking it. He placed the note on the tray. “I should like this brought to the village today.”
The footman assured him it would be done, then turned to leave. Darcy opened the letter, eager to hear from Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Dear Darcy,
What a discovery to make on my first day of leave in London — to learn that you are wed! My dear fellow, I am so pleased to hear it, but I was surprised to find that you had only known the young lady sennight before marrying her. I hardly know what to say. I am sure she is the picture of loveliness, and from a well-to-do family. Mother says she is one of five daughters. You will certainly have your fill of female company now, I dare say, which has been sorely lacking since the Incident.
Speaking of which, I have been spending a great deal of thought on our poor Georgiana — and on her blackguard husband. From what the lawyers have relayed, he was none too pleased to find that he could not get his hands on the bulk of Georgiana’s fortune, but would have to settle for his small monthly allotment. Is it wrong that this news has caused me no little joy? I can only imagine the shock and rage on his face. Perhaps he will work himself into such a frenzy that he will do us the favour of having an apoplectic fit.
I have not seen her yet. With luck, I will find a time when Wickham is not at home, so I might visit her and see how she fares. I will write as soon as I know more, and hope to visit you at Pemberley at your and your wife’s earliest convenience. (How strange and wonderful it is to write those words! I truly hope you have found happiness after all that you have endured this year.)
Yours faithfully,
R. Fitzwilliam
Darcy folded the letter and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Sighing heavily, he opened the drawer where he had started and discarded his numerous attempts to write to Georgiana himself. How many others had he tossed into the fire? Too many to count. He shut the drawer with a loud thud and walked away. Darcy had only just started to find some respite from his guilt and dread. Elizabeth inspired peace and ease, but she could not erase the pain roiling under the surface. This letter had brought it all back to the forefront of his mind.
How could he fault Georgiana as he had, when he too had been forced to marry under duress? Of course, she had chosen her marriage, but she had been naive — taken advantage of by a man whom she had known since earliest childhood, whom she ought to have been able to trust. His marriage to Elizabeth had been an unfortunate accident, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
However, he was quickly coming to see her as a blessing, one that he did not deserve. If they could make their unique circumstances work, was there a glimmer of hope for Georgiana and her situation? It was difficult to believe, for it would surely require Wickham to find some hint of character and integrity.
He strode out of the room and went to walk in the garden to clear his mind, half-wishing he might run into Elizabeth there. But though Darcy did encounter company as he exited the house and strode through the winding paths, it was not the woman he had hoped to meet.
“Cousin Anne?” Darcy said in surprise. Anne de Bourgh was rarely seen out of her mother’s company, much less out-of-doors.
The young woman, dressed all in black, turned around and gasped in surprise. “Darcy,” she exclaimed. “I did not see you there.”
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said, raising a brow in consternation. His cousin rarely left the confines of the house. Indeed, he had rarely seen her anywhere but plastered to the side of the hearth.
“My mother is sleeping,” she said, as though that explained everything. Perhaps it did.
“Is it not too chilly to be out in the garden?” He glanced at the sky, which had been a swath of grey clouds all afternoon. “You will catch your death, will you not?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so. Please excuse me,” she said and started to head toward the house with her slow steps.
He silently chastised himself and quickly caught up to her. “I did not mean to imply that you were unwelcome in the gardens, Cousin. I merely worry for your health. May I retrieve another shawl for you?”
She seemed relieved to be allowed to wander outside for a few more moments. “No, thank you, I am quite well.”
He and Anne had never been close — not as he and the colonel were. Now that he no longer needed to guard against an unwanted engagement, perhaps it was time for that to change. Darcy cleared his throat and offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn about the fountains with me?”
Anne’s face brightened, a hint of light coming into her eyes. “Oh, yes, thank you.”
She took his arm, and they started toward a section closer to the house where there were several fountains. They had been drained in preparation for the winter months, but they still held a quiet dignity.
“How do you find Pemberley? It has been several years since you last visited. I have changed a number of things; I hope not for the worse.”
“Yes, it has been nearly a decade,” Anne agreed. She leaned heavily on him, perhaps out of habit as much as genuine necessity. She was so young, younger than he was. Darcy wondered, as so often before, how much of her weakness was inevitable, and how much was caused by Lady Catherine’s self-fulfilling prophecies of frailty and incapability. “It is just as I remembered it, a sanctuary from the rest of the world.”
