These Three Remain

such a pastime. “And Her Ladyship! Mater would hand him the nails!” The more heated his protestations became, the wider Darcy’s grin spread until it finally caught Fitzwilliam’s attention. Realizing he had been led on, he stopped short and glared at Darcy before he joined in his cousin’s amusement.

By the time James had brought the coach beneath Rosings’s portico, they were once more the sober gentlemen their aunt expected to descend from it. And expected they most certainly were. A retinue of servants lined the stairway to the door, all at exquisite attention, ready to unload the coach and conduct the visitors into Her Ladyship’s presence.

“And so it begins.” Fitzwilliam gave one more tug to his waistcoat and checked the line of his trousers. “If she complains that we are not in breeches, I shall hold you eternally responsible!” he assured Darcy as the coach stopped and the door immediately sprang open. The manservant at the door was the same long-suffering soul who had performed this office for as many years as Darcy could remember. He nodded to the man’s “Welcome to Rosings, sir,” and started up the stairs after him as soon as Fitzwilliam had descended from the coach. They both knew the way, of course, but Lady Catherine was a fiend when it came to observance of the proper formalities; therefore, both gentlemen followed sedately behind the slow-moving servant until they reached the doors of the Rose Salon.

“Darcy…Fitzwilliam. You are arrived at last!” The irritation in their aunt’s penetrating voice was unmistakable. Doubtless, she had expected them hours earlier. Darcy gave his cousin a face that clearly communicated who was to take the blame for their lateness. Fitzwilliam sighed; then, both of them advanced into the salon to make their bows to the lady who sat in regal command of all within her purview.

“Your Ladyship.” Darcy bowed and kissed the hand his aunt extended. Fitzwilliam did likewise a moment later.

Lady Catherine sniffed as her eyes roamed up and down her two nephews. “Neither of you dressed properly! Breeches and stockings, sirs, are the correct attire for paying visits. I may lay this laxity at Fitzwilliam’s door, I have no doubt.”

Richard shot a murderous look at his cousin before beginning his campaign. “Your Ladyship, it was D —”

“Come,” Lady Catherine interrupted him, “greet your cousin.” Both men obediently turned to the pale creature on the settee at a right angle to Lady Catherine’s and bowed. Anne de Bourgh’s thin frame was completely obscured by the voluminous shawls deemed necessary to protect her health from the slightest inclemency. In most young women, this swaddling should have resulted in a complexion high with color, but Anne’s wan face was mute testimony to her continued delicacy.

Darcy stepped forward and formally extended his hand. “Cousin,” he murmured as Anne removed hers from beneath the shawls and placed it languidly in his. For all her wraps, his cousin’s fingers remained cold; and as he raised them to his lips, he wondered anew how she could support her life, caught as it was between ill health and her mother’s domineering officiousness.

“Cousin,” she offered him listlessly in return. He stepped back in Fitzwilliam’s favor and observed her as she received his cousin’s attention and repeated her single-word greeting. There was no change in her pallid countenance, nor any spark of interest at their arrival in her eyes. Instead, she seemed relieved to have done with the formality, retreating inward as she slipped her hand once more beneath the shawls.

“Does not your cousin look in health?” Lady Catherine’s question demanded their agreement, and neither of her nephews disappointed her. “We have engaged in a new regimen recommended me by one of the Regent’s own doctors; therefore, it cannot but be beneficial. Within a year, I expect, Anne will be entirely able to take her rightful place.” She turned a knowing smile upon Darcy. “An eventuality for which we have all waited with anticipation.”

Only his careful reserve prevented Darcy from giving evidence of the contumacy that unexpectedly gripped him. Lady Catherine alluded, of course, to her expectation of nuptials between his cousin and himself. He flicked a glance at Anne, confirming his opinion that she believed in its “eventuality” no more than he did, and then looked away. It was an old theme, the tune of which he had long since learned to ignore without incurring open antagonism with Her Ladyship. But this time her insinuations had conjured up in him an exceedingly visceral response. Of a certainty, he wished his cousin any increase in vitality and health. Who would not? But no increase in those qualities would make her a fit wife for him. This, too, he had long known. Why, then, this tumbling of his equanimity? You well know why, his conscience intruded, but he pushed it away and concentrated on his next words to his aunt.

“All her relations will, indeed, rejoice, Ma’am.”

Lady Catherine’s smile hesitated at his response, but she did not press him, choosing instead to direct them to seat themselves and partake of some refreshment to relieve the depredations of their journey.

“You are inexcusably late, Nephews.” She returned to her original subject when they had settled back into their chairs with their tea. “I expected you some hours ago and had prepared myself to hear of a serious accident. Since you are both in health, it must have been a problem with a horse or the coach.”

“No, Ma’am,” Darcy volunteered, deciding to spare Fitzwilliam his aunt’s inevitable lecture. “We were late setting out.”

“Late setting out! What could have prevented your leaving, I wonder. Surely that man of yours knows the clock!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Darcy replied carefully, “Fletcher is in nowise to blame.”

Lady Catherine’s piercing regard shifted to his cousin. Knowing he was about to be called to account, Fitzwilliam launched a flanking maneuver. “An old friend of Darcy’s, the Earl of Westmarch, came by for a visit, Ma’am, and practically settled in for the night. We could not very well chuck him into the street —”

“The Earl of Westmarch?” Her Ladyship turned back to Darcy. “I am astonished that you should keep company with him, Darcy! I knew his father, you know; and what a disappointment his son would be to him if he were still alive. Now there was perfection in a gentleman. Twice I danced with him during my Season, and I do not deceive myself when I say that I would have been Lady Westmarch had not the scandal, which I am certain that woman started apurpose, forced him into marriage prematurely. I have heard only the most shocking things about the son and advise you to cut the connection or at least refuse to receive him at Erewile House when Georgiana is at home. You cannot be too circumspect in the care of young ladies. Their heads may be turned with the least attention by a practiced flirt. Her new governess keeps a close watch on her, I trust?”

Lady Catherine’s trust was confirmed with a clipped “Yes, Ma’am” as Darcy rose from his seat and stalked to the tea table. His aunt’s persistence in her delusion that he would take Anne to wife had sent him into a rebellious mood that was acerbated by the underlying truth that, if it were not Anne, it would be some other female equally equipped to defraud him of true companionship of heart and mind. His aunt’s libel of Brougham and directions concerning his private conduct were not without years of precedent, but today they were fuel for the fire of Darcy’s discontent. Perhaps it was wise that this year’s visit be cut short.

“That is well, then,” Lady Catherine called to him. “Although, if you had engaged the woman I advised, you would be sure to have nothing to worry about on that score!” His back still turned, Darcy gritted his teeth, set his cup down on the table, and reached for the teapot. “You may apply to Lady Metcalf on my eye for the proper governess. She declares Miss Pope ‘a treasure,’ which, I have not a doubt, she is. Steady and regular instruction is what young ladies require or there will be trouble, mark my words. I have only recently become acquainted with just such a situation and expect to hear of calamity any day. Five daughters and never a governess!”

Everything around Darcy seemed to still as his aunt’s words echoed in his brain. Five daughters! His hand trembled slightly as he gripped the teapot’s handle and poured another cup, causing the steaming brew to splash over the rim and into the saucer. Was it possible that Collins had apprised Her Ladyship of events in Hertfordshire?

“No governess, Ma’am? Extraordinary!” Fitzwilliam commented, as if such things were his daily concern. Darcy knew it to be a ploy, designed to keep their aunt’s attention from once more focusing upon himself; but this time he was as desirous for more of the particulars as his aunt was to reveal them.

“Indeed!” replied Lady Catherine, nodding at Fitzwilliam approvingly, “and so I said. But, Nephew, that does not constitute the height of this family’s folly. No, indeed!” Her Ladyship vigorously tapped her silver-handled walking stick on the floor. “Not only have they not had the benefit of a governess’s discipline but they are all out before the elder ones are married! From the oldest to the youngest, who is a mere fifteen years of age! I have never heard of such foolishness, and so I informed Mrs. Collins’s friend.”

Darcy’s cup rattled on its saucer so badly he was forced to stay it with his other hand. Mrs. Collins’s friend?