Fitzwilliam Darcy entered Rosings covered in dust and walked straight to the gaudy sitting room, knowing he’d find his aunt there, never next to her daughter’s sickbed. The walls held so many ornamentations and ancient tapestries, it was a dark and dank room, and Fitzwilliam’s least favorite.
“Fitzwilliam, thank goodness you have come. Anne has taken to her bed once more and Dr. Sneads is certain her time is near.” Lady Catherine lacked any maternal concern in her voice and did not rise from the overly ornate wingback chair she used as an impromptu throne.
“I shall see to my betrothed, presently, once I am changed. Madam.” Darcy bowed and tried to exit the parlor.
“Don't open that door!” Lady Catherine instructed the poor footman. “Whatever did you need to rush to Pemberley for? You never satisfied my question before you abruptly departed two weeks ago. What if Anne had died? You must marry right away, this very afternoon!” Lady Catherine barked her orders from her pretender’s throne.
Darcy clenched his teeth. For two months he had stalled and stymied his family’s attempts to make him wed his sickly cousin, Anne. First, he delayed their arrival as long as he could with matters in London. Then, he spent weeks pouring over the accounts of Rosings, justifying the action as necessary to reconcile the marriage settlement papers. Then he made certain to find a mistake and return to London under the charade of seeing his solicitor. Finally, he used Pemberley as an excuse. But time marched on. He was running out of excuses to delay the wedding.
Richard was to have procured leave a month ago and arrive for the switch in groom, but his military duties continued to thwart their plans. The only sustenance that allowed Darcy to endure night after night of his aunt’s rude, brash manner was the handful of love letters from his true love, Elizabeth Bennet. The two brief times he managed to go to London, he saw his secretly betrothed, but her uncle, Edward Gardiner, refused to allow them any privacy. Darcy couldn’t blame the man; his situation remained precarious and should something happen, Elizabeth would be alone.
“I explained that I saw to the preparations of the mistress suite at Pemberley. If a man is to take a wife, there are certain preparations that must be met. I had planned to stop off in London to see that home, but your missive said Anne was dying.” He didn’t add that he instructed the decorations based on the Elizabeth’s tastes, not Anne’s.
“She is! Her doctor assures me there is precious little time and one more illness will take her away! Marry and be done with it, you can have your bits of muslin on the side.” Lady Catherine waved her hands to emphasize the trifling nature of such concerns.
Love of his cousins and Elizabeth had prevented Darcy from taking just such action. To him, Anne was unwell, but never appeared to be upon death’s door as her mother called it. A more mercenary man would marry one, wait for her to die, and then marry again, just to procure another estate. Taking another bow, Darcy’s patience ended.
“Again I tell you, I shall see to my betrothed and her comfort after I have changed.”
Darcy returned to the Master’s chambers of Rosings and met with his man Simmons. Allowing his valet to undress him, he awaited the water for a bath. He was not unfeeling towards Anne, she was his dear cousin. But he had only ever briefly intended to marry her once when the scheme was first pressed by all of his older relations. That fleeting reconciliation to a loveless marriage occurred while he mistakenly believed Elizabeth Bennet promised to another and before his other cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, acquainted them to his secret love affair with Anne. His future companion had once described his life as a Shakespearean comedy, yet if matters did not change soon, Darcy would likely find him the hero of a tragedy.
“Sir, would you care to wear your charcoal coat or full black?” Simmons asked as another servant motioned Darcy’s bath was prepared.
“Black.” Darcy climbed into the tub and slunk into the hot water with his long legs bending up at the knee. If Anne’s deterioration in fact existed, the perilous future of his family and personal happiness hung in the balance. Certainly, if Lady Catherine lost Rosings to a late, madness-induced will by her late husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, he was not prepared to take on the old baggage at Pemberley. This whole trouble began and ended with one man, Wickham. Had he simply disappeared, gone to America or elsewhere after Darcy paid him the value of the living willed to him by his own father, none of this would be happening. But Wickham ran off with Darcy’s own sister, before her sixteenth birthday. The two now married, it would be nary impossible to avoid probate should Anne pass away unmarried. A bastard child, a will of a madman, and too much wealth for unscrupulous souls to manage, Darcy thought sourly.
After soaking for a full quarter hour, Darcy called Simmons for his clothes. His black suit of the finest cloth London could offer cut his tall frame into a handsome figure, but Darcy didn’t need confidence in his appearance. The women of the Ton and even lower circles had ever chased after him as a fair prize to be caught. Yet it was one country miss who nearly died by his horse in a horrific accident last autumn that had captured his heart. Darcy wished he had managed to stop in London, if only to see his Elizabeth again.
“Shall I unpack your trunk, sir, or do you plan to travel again soon?” Simmons asked as he brushed small bits of lint off his master’s coat.
Darcy tugged on this coat sleeve, glancing in the mirror, horrified at how gaunt his own face appeared. One year shy of his thirtieth birthday and yet the ghost of his father stared back at him in the lines and fatigue under his eyes.
“Please wait for my audience with Miss de Bourgh. At the very least we shall spend a week here so I may again go over the estate accounts.” Despite wishing he could return to his love, and drag Richard out to Kent if necessary, Fitzwilliam Darcy couldn’t keep avoiding his responsibilities forever.