“And you wish her to do so freely.”
“Yes.”
Lady Anne’s expression softened. “When your father married me,” she said quietly, “it was not exactly by choice. Oh,it was in a way—I chose him over an old earl, and he chose to rescue me instead of turning his back.”
This was not news to Darcy, but it was the first time he heard of his stepmother speak of the circumstances that led to her marriage.
“It was necessity. Protection,” she continued. “I did not understand his faith then. It was not central to me. He had been married before; he had fulfilled certain expectations already. My views cost him nothing.”
She paused for a few moments, staring into the distance at a past he could not see.
“It was his constancy,” she continued at last, “that caused me to question. He did not demand. He did not condemn. He lived what he believed, and I chose to follow. Not in a year. Not in two. It took time.”
“You requested baptism yourself, then?” Darcy said.
“Yes, but it was not until Georgiana was around seven years of age.”
“The earl would have disapproved.”
Lady Anne’s lips curved faintly. “My brother disapproves of many things. That has never prevented me from doing what I would prefer.”
Darcy exhaled softly. “Would my father be disappointed,” he asked after a moment, “if I married a nonbeliever, without having the sacramental ceremony?”
Lady Anne’s gaze sharpened. “Your father valued faith,” she said carefully. “He did not value coercion.”
Darcy absorbed that.
“There is hypocrisy and devotion in both faiths,” she continued. “My brother proclaims himself champion of the sovereign religion, yet his conduct is rarely exemplary. George was devout, but never severe. I think he would care more about the character of your partner than how she prays.”
She leaned slightly forward.
“Heritage is important. But it is not the whole of a man. Nor of a marriage.”
He nodded slowly.
“She must come to it, if she comes at all,” Lady Anne rose her from her seat and smoothed her skirts. “And she may not come by the path you expect.”
When she withdrew, the room fell into a thoughtful stillness. The fire burned low; the afternoon light stretched thin across the carpet. He remained where he was, hands loosely clasped, gaze unfixed.
He had never before felt so divided—between past and future, between inheritance and hope. He thought of Elizabeth’s steady eyes, of the tremor in her voice when she had said she loved him, of the courage it required to ask for time rather than surrender.
At length, he bowed his head.
It was not a formal prayer, nor one rehearsed from childhood, but something quieter and more urgent. He asked only for wisdom—for patience—and for the humility to accept whatever answer might come.
He did not know how long he remained thus.
The tranquility was shattered abruptly by a rising shriek from the upper hall.
“I will not go! Charles, you are insufferable!”
The protest descended in pitch and volume as it was borne toward the staircase, punctuated by indignant gasps and the unmistakable commotion of resistance.
Darcy closed his eyes briefly.
The carriage door below slammed with emphatic finality.
Peace, it seemed, would no longer be a fragile commodity at Netherfield.
