Darcy and Anne

Anne was ill with misery all that day and the next. Then something strange happened. At some time, in the middle of a sleepless night, she began, instead of suffering, to think. It was not good enough to cry; crying would not save her or Minette; she must do something. It was never of any use to appeal to her mother's sympathy—she never felt sorry for anyone. Nor was maternal affection a powerful impulse with her. She got her way by being forceful, by being determined, by always being sure that she was right. Well! she was her mother's daughter; she would use her mother's weapons; supposing her to be in this situation, what would Lady Catherine do?

She could not refuse to go to Rosings; no young woman could do such a thing; it was beyond the bounds of possibility. Nor could she ask her cousins at Pemberley to house her in defiance of her mother's expressed wish; such a request would place them in a position of great embarrassment. However, suppose she could make it clear to Lady Catherine that she was a different person now, that living at Rosings would be a different experience for both of them?

As soon as it was light, Anne rang for her maid, got herself put into a dressing gown, and writing materials brought, and wrote a letter. It took her several hours, and we will not enquire how many sheets were left torn up on the floor, but the letter was eventually written:

Madam,

The respect due to a parent makes it impossible for me to propose disobeying your commands; but I do request you to reflect. You wish me to come to Rosings with you, and I have no intention of refusing, although because of the injury to my head, it will not be possible for me to travel, probably for many weeks.

You wish me to accept Lord Francis's offer of marriage, and out of respect for your wishes, I will re-consider his offer, but only when he comes to me, and makes it himself. He can do so, if he wishes, more expeditiously from Burley, than by going into Kent. That is, I will consider it—I do not say that I will accept it. My wealth and rank have, as you know, prevented my thinking of marriage with a man with whom I believe I could have been happy. Wealth and rank are not going to force me into marrying a man whom I do not love, and who does not love me.

You wish me to reside with you at Rosings: you have yourself acknowledged that my improvement in health dates from my leaving Rosings. The location does not agree with me, I have never been well there, and I do not wish to return to a state of sickness. If, in deference to your wishes, I must reside there, I will not have Dr Fillgrave as my medical advisor. I will choose my own doctor, and pay him myself. I must have a horse to ride. I must have a personal maid-companion of my own; I will not be attended by Mullins. Above all, I will not be carried here and there to seek a husband; I shall spend my time in the library, writing. I intend to publish my writing; however, in deference to your views, I will publish under a pseudonym.

I think we are both agreed that it is high time for me to find an establishment in life, but are disagreed on what that establishment should be. I am of full age and know what I want. I require a similarity of interests; I require a situation of mutual respect and affection; and if such a situation is not available, I am resigned to spending the rest of my life as an unmarried woman. We left Rosings because there were no prospects of marriage for me in such a restricted society. I believe my chances of finding the establishment I need are far better here than at Rosings, and this is where I wish to remain. I beg you, madam, to return to Rosings and leave me here.

As for the dog, she is not dangerous, and I will not allow her to be destroyed. She has never bitten or snapped, and did not do so yesterday; raised voices frighten her and she growled and barked, that is all. I will not come to Rosings, or go anywhere else, without her, and she will never leave my side. If you refuse to allow her to enter your drawing-room, I will not enter it, either.

Believe me, madam,

Yours very sincerely,

Anne de Bourgh

As soon as the letter was written, Anne had breakfast brought to her. Then she decided to try to get dressed. She found to her surprise that she had much more strength than she had expected. To all enquiries, she caused the reply to be given that “she was better, and would be downstairs shortly.”

About mid-morning she went downstairs, saw to the letter's being dispatched, and herself walked Minette. Then she went to the drawing room. There was a visitor there, Lady Louisa. And more than that: her cousin Elizabeth was there, as well. She had made a rapid recovery, due, Dr Lawson said, to her youth, a good constitution, and happiness. Mrs Grainger's predictions had not been realized, the obliging young woman from Torgates had not been needed, and a very few days after her child's birth, Mrs Darcy had announced that she was tired to death with her bedchamber, and did not wish to stay there. Sitting on the sofa, with her baby in her arms, she looked more lovely than Anne had ever seen her.

A conference had been going on, and she was its subject. The unknown, disregarded cousin had become a loved and valued citizen of Pemberley; she who had been thought of as a burden was now an asset; and everyone was there, including Mr Bennet, to discuss her situation, and what they might do to help her. Lady Louisa had arrived with a scheme of her own, but heard it all out in her usual alert, kindly manner, saying nothing until everyone had spoken, and she had the full history of Lady Catherine's visit.

Mr Darcy had alluded—as he thought, very delicately—to the subject of Lady Catherine's disagreement with Anne, but Lady Louisa had no time for delicacy.

“In love with somebody else, is she?” she said. “Well, I am not surprised, it always happens so with your lonely, cloistered girls, who cannot tell anybody about their feelings, and keep things to themselves. Give me a girl who cries, and writes love-letters, and keeps her sisters awake at night; she will grow out of it. Miss de Bourgh has been kept too close, had nobody to confide in; girls like her always fall in love with the first man who is kind to them, and never get over it. And her family can think themselves lucky if it's not a dancing-master, or a groom of the chambers, or some such thing.”

There was a kind of sudden stillness in the room, and Lady Louisa saw that Georgiana's face was scarlet. So… there was something! she thought. I'll wager fifty sovereigns, it was that handsome scamp, what was his name, Wigby or Wilson—the steward's son. It seems to run in the family.

“Now, what is to be done?”

It was at this point, fortunately, that Anne entered the room. There was a general expression of delight on seeing her, and in the middle of the exclamations, and enquiries as to her health, and finding her a comfortable chair, and Anne being allowed to take little Lewis in her arms and admire him, Georgiana's complexion had a chance to recover.

However, at this point, there was another interruption. Mr Lewis Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy, having been disturbed, and picked up, and kissed, chose this moment to demand attentions from his mother that only she could provide; and Elizabeth was obliged to leave them. “But,” she said, “you have matters well in hand, and you have my full approbation for whatever you may decide, and any assistance that Lewis and I can give.”

As soon as they were all settled, Lady Louisa brought up the reason why she had come to Pemberley; she was going to London in a few weeks, and wished to invite Georgiana to go with her, and have a season in town. She was of the opinion that Georgiana needed the society of more young people, “and not young men,” she said, “So much as young girls; she needs to spend more time with young women of her own age. Look how happy she is when she is with Miss Rackham. You need to laugh with other girls, Georgiana, to be foolish if you will; you need to be young.”

“You are right,” said Darcy. “She must leave us old married people to themselves.”

“Well, I see no reason why Miss de Bourgh, if she is well enough by then, should not come too,” Lady Louisa said. “It would be far better for you, my dear, than going back to Rosings; yes, yes, Minette would be welcome. If she comes to London,” she pointed out, “Miss de Bourgh will certainly meet Lord Francis, for he is sure to be there for the season; but she will also meet other eligible gentlemen. After all, with thirty thousand pounds, why should the heiress of Rosings be limited to considering one elderly suitor, whom she does not like? She might do far better.”

“But supposing Lady Catherine decides to go to London?” Mr Bennet asked.