The Companion Read online

  “May I inquire after this matter of business?”

  “It has to do with my investments,” replied Darcy. “My banker does not think it wise that I leave London at present.”

  “And it arose only after our aunt’s letter arrived?”

  “A curious coincidence, is it not?”

  Fitzwilliam guffawed and slapped his knee. “Curious, indeed! I cannot think our aunt will accept this development with any degree of sanguinity.”

  “No, she will not. But the beauty of the matter is that she is at Rosings and we are in London.”

  “Rosings is not far distant. She could be here in four hours, if she chose it.”

  “Yes, she could. But do you think she will? She has always preferred to insist we come to her, and with the demands of the estate, I doubt she will put herself out so much. Even if she does, I am quite tied to London for the time being and will not be able to leave, even if she comes here to attempt to drag me back with her.”

  Fitzwilliam eyed him with unabashed curiosity. “You have always been able to tolerate our aunt, usually with more patience than I may boast myself. What has changed now?”

  “The fact that she has become more strident as she has aged.” Darcy sighed and leaned back with his glass in hand, the amber liquid swirling within as he moved his hand in a circular motion. “She will not listen when I tell her I do not intend to marry Anne, and she becomes more insistent every year. I would not put it past her to arrange a compromise if she does not get her own way.”

  “And what of Rosings?” asked Fitzwilliam.

  Darcy only snorted. “Lady Catherine rules that estate with an iron fist. She is capable of managing it without my assistance, and even if I make suggestions, she promises to consider them and then promptly pushes them to the side. If she was less talented in the estate’s operation, I might be more concerned. There are always matters which may be improved, but she is entirely capable of managing her own affairs.”

  “That is true,” said Fitzwilliam.

  They fell silent, each occupied with their own thoughts. Darcy’s were consumed by the desire to avoid being subjected once again to Lady Catherine’s demands. Far better to stay in London and avoid society as much as possible than to be stuck in a house with Lady Catherine for two weeks.

  Though Darcy did not wish to confess to it, in fact his thoughts were occupied by more than simply the situation in Kent. Whenever he was at repose, other thoughts began to intrude, and often, his mind was invaded by memories of a beautiful woman with laughing eyes and a teasing manner. It was thoughts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet he could not avoid which made him moody and ill-tempered. If he went to Rosings, thoughts of her which would not leave him alone coupled with Lady Catherine’s constant demands would almost certainly leave his temper frayed. It was that as much as anything which prompted him to avoid the year’s visit.

  “You may go if you wish,” said Darcy, firmly pushing thoughts of Miss Bennet from his mind, though he was aware she would claw her way out of the dark hole in which he had locked her, as if she had the very key to his mind. “Without my presence, I would think your visit would be less aggravating.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “If I were to go without you, I would no doubt be subjected to Lady Catherine’s inquisition. If you think being hauled over the carpet to constitute a pleasant visit, I must question your sanity.”

  “I do not blame you,” replied Darcy. “If you are willing, then, I will draft a letter this very evening and send it off to her.”

  “Just take care to imply your decision will not be altered and that your business is very important, else you shall have an irate Lady Catherine on your doorstep by tomorrow.”

  Then Fitzwilliam raised his glass in salute, drained it, and excused himself from the room. Left to his own thoughts, Darcy sat for some minutes, staring into his glass, watching as the liquid swirled and splashed when he shook it slightly. He was reluctant to even favor Lady Catherine with a letter explaining his decision to cancel his visit to Rosings that year, but he understood it needed to be done. His manners would not allow for anything else, and as she was his mother’s sister, he was duty bound to at least give her that courtesy.

  There was nothing else to be done, so Darcy set about drafting the letter, keeping it short and concise, but being careful to emphasize—as Fitzwilliam had suggested—the importance of his business. When the letter was completed and sanded, Darcy summoned his butler and entrusted the missive to him, asking it be posted immediately. He thought of sending it express, but in the end, he decided against it, thinking an express might be more likely to bring Lady Catherine to his doorstep.

  With that complete, Darcy sat down to his other work which awaited him. There were letters of business, one from his steward at Pemberley, another from another steward at an estate he owned in Scotland, and another from his banker. The matter he had used as an excuse to avoid Rosings was just that—an excuse. Darcy usually abhorred any kind of deceit, but in this instance, he was more than willing to make an exception.

  At the bottom of his pile of letters, he noted one from Bingley, and he grimaced. As he expected, deciphering it was the same as any other Bingley had sent him during the years of their acquaintance. He mentioned his time in the north, visiting relations, noted that he would be returning to London before the end of the month, and suggested they meet at their club when he arrived.

  Unfortunately, the want of cheer which had characterized Bingley’s behavior and his letters since they had left Hertfordshire was still clear between the blots. Darcy was sorry for his friend—had Jane Bennet returned an affection for anything other than Bingley’s pocketbook—or to be fair, had her mother’s avarice not ruled the girl—Darcy might have been able to support an alliance with her. But Bingley was feeling the effects of her indifference even now, half a year after their departure.

  Perhaps he could be introduced to a new angel when he returned to London, mused Darcy. He had had his head turned by so many ladies in the past, it was not inconceivable that the next might cure him of his heartbreak. It was something to consider at the very least.

  “You arranged it?” asked Elizabeth, uncertain what she was hearing.

  “I did,” replied Miss de Bourgh.

  Elizabeth studied the woman. “It is difficult to imagine that Lady Catherine could be guided in such a way, especially when you are not . . .”

  “Forceful?” asked Miss de Bourgh. “Confident or determined? No, I must confess that my mother has much more of all those traits than I possess myself. But that does not mean I am devoid of them.”

  “How? And Why?”

  “For your first question, it was easily done, as my mother was not enamored of any of the ladies she interviewed, and it was easy to point out some imagined fault which my mother would find objectionable.” Miss de Bourgh smiled, though it was mirthless. “My mother, as I am certain you understand, prefers to surround herself with those who will not dare to contradict her. Mrs. Jenkinson was one such, for various reasons, and your cousin, Mr. Collins, is another. She is adept at managing Rosings and quite intelligent, but she absolutely loathes any form of contradiction.”

  “Then it would seem that my presence does not fit her usual requirements,” replied Elizabeth.

  For the second time in the past few moments, Elizabeth was surprised, as Miss de Bourgh actually smiled in response. “That does seem to be the case, does it not? But when I pointed out your merits—particularly your intelligence, your circumstances and knowledge, not to mention your availability, she quickly came to see my point. That does not mean she would allow you to have the position without assuring herself that you would not corrupt me.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “That is yet to be determined, Miss de Bourgh.” Elizabeth paused, noting Miss de Bourgh’s responding grin. “As yet, however, I do not understand why. What about my attendance was so irresistible that you manipulated your mother in such a fashion.�
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  The smile ran away from Miss de Bourgh’s face, and the look she gave Elizabeth suggested that she thought Elizabeth had overstepped her bounds. Elizabeth only returned her look with one of her own; though Miss de Bourgh had proven to be her mother’s daughter with her spark of haughtiness, Elizabeth thought she was owed this explanation.

  Apparently Miss de Bourgh came to the same conclusion. “I wanted a friend, Miss Bennet,” said Miss de Bourgh, in a voice which was barely audible. Elizabeth’s heart went out to her. “You do not know what it is like. By all accounts, you have been raised in a house with many sisters, and though you have not been blessed with the material advantages I have always known, I must assume those you did possess—that of a loving family—were much greater than mere wealth. I am aware of my mother’s love for me, but her love is expressed in demands for obedience and her focus on my physical needs.

  “Mrs. Jenkinson was a good woman, one who cared for me and endured my mother’s ill humors with as much fortitude as she could muster, but she was always more of a nurse and a caretaker—and a jailor—than a companion. I hope you will agree to be my friend, a woman close to my own age whom I can talk to and who will talk to me for some other reason than to inquire if I am warm or comfortable.”

  “You saw in me someone who would have no trouble opposing your mother, if need be.”

  “Not opposing, precisely,” replied Miss de Bourgh. “I do not intend for you to provoke my mother’s ire, and I certainly do not wish for the Collinses to be pulled into any disobedience. Mrs. Collins possesses a mind of her own, but Mr. Collins has no opinion other than what my mother tells him.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest we act as most friends would when we are not in my mother’s company. I want to live, Miss Bennet, not merely exist. I wish to have confidences and discussions about nothing more important than literature or what handsome man has caught our fancy.”

  “That will be difficult with your mother hovering over you.”

  “And that is why I waited until mother was content with your behavior and stopped watching you.” Her grin made a reappearance. “I knew eventually her interest would return to the estate and the pleasure she takes in meddling with the lives of others. She has come to it in a more expeditious manner than I would have thought possible. But I am grateful nonetheless.”

  “She will still be living in this house.”

  “I am willing to take what I can get at present. We can see what develops from there.”

  Elizabeth watched the other woman, noting her returning scrutiny. On the one hand, she understood how Miss de Bourgh was using her as an escape from her mother, and part of her wondered if she should not be offended as a result. On the other, however, she realized that this young lady had hardly even lived, though she was Elizabeth’s elder in years. Her plea did not fall on deaf ears. But the independence which was part of Elizabeth’s character could not understand how Miss de Bourgh could endure such casual tyranny.

  “Why did you not go to your uncle? For that matter, I understand that your cousins visit every Easter—why did you not ask them for help?”

  Miss de Bourgh was silent while she contemplated Elizabeth’s question, finally saying: “I do not mind my mother, Miss Bennet. While you may—rightly, I might add—consider her to be a despot, she has my best interests in mind.”

  “But only as those interests agree with her own opinion,” snapped Elizabeth.

  “I will not say you are incorrect. I will only say that I have been comfortable living here, and there are ways I can circumvent my mother’s authority. I have desperately wished for a friend, but I have never been desperate enough to take such a step as applying to my uncle, for I am aware that it might irreparably damage my relationship with my mother. I am hopeful we can keep our friendship from her notice.”

  “Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth, speaking with patience to ensure she was not misunderstood, “would it not be better to gradually become more open with each other, to display a growing friendship, rather than this subterfuge you are proposing?”

  The woman appeared crestfallen. “You do not wish to be my friend?”

  It was the response Elizabeth should have expected. Anne de Bourgh had not had many in her life who were willing to put her best interests first, and it was not surprising she should be so easily disheartened.

  “I am more than willing to be your friend,” replied Elizabeth. She leaned forward and grasped Miss de Bourgh’s hands, squeezing them to impart commiseration and friendship, not to mention a bit of confidence. “I am only a little uncomfortable with such underhanded means. I know your mother means well, but are you not deserving of friendship and love in your own right? How can your mother possibly oppose that which would make you happy in your life?”

  “You would be surprised,” said Miss de Bourgh, though it was clear she appreciated Elizabeth’s unequivocal declaration. “She would disapprove of our friendship for no other reason than she considers you inferior.”

  Elizabeth sighed. Her stay at Rosings had just become that much more interesting, and though she was beginning to see much more in Miss de Bourgh than she had ever imagined, the thought of Lady Catherine’s likely reaction if she ever became aware of it was enough to cause her to shudder.

  But there was truly no choice. Miss de Bourgh was a woman Elizabeth could not even have imagined esteeming only a short time ago, but these past few moments had revealed a side to her that intrigued Elizabeth. Besides, this pathetic plea for friendship could not be turned away—Elizabeth’s heart would not allow it.

  “I am more than willing to be your friend,” replied Elizabeth, prompting a large smile from Miss de Bourgh. “As I have already stated, I am still wary of keeping this from your mother, but I do understand. Hopefully with time, she will come to accept it.”

  Miss de Bourgh’s countenance suggested skepticism, and Elizabeth could not blame her. But she nodded and said: “That is wonderful. Thank you very much. I hope we will become close as sisters.”

  “Only remember that I must return home before long,” said Elizabeth, not wishing to spoil Miss de Bourgh’s new-found happiness, but knowing she needed to be reminded of the reality of the situation.

  “Then we shall have to make the most of our time.”

  There was nothing else to say, so Elizabeth allowed the subject to drop. They discussed how they would go about their days for several more moments, Miss de Bourgh firm in her belief that her mother would not even become aware of their closer friendship.

  “So long as our behavior in her presence does not change, other matters will keep her occupied,” averred she. “But we must also take care to avoid the notice of the servants. They are loyal to her. Laura will likely keep my confidence, but I am not confident in any of the others. Regardless, I do not wish anyone to know at present.”

  Though she wondered if she should be offended, Elizabeth was aware of the reason for Miss de Bourgh’s sentiments, so she said nothing. When they had spoken for some little more time, Elizabeth excused herself to return to her room, citing the need to retire. The need to think on this newly changed circumstance was equally important in her mind.

  As she rose to depart, the sound of Miss de Bourgh’s voice caused her to stop and turn to look at the woman.

  “I would be happy if we could dispense with formality, at least when we are alone. I would be pleased if you would call me Anne.”

  The hesitant nervousness in her tone almost broke Elizabeth’s heart, and she knew that whatever restrictions they were forced to adopt, she had made the right choice in accepting this woman’s friendship.

  “Then you must call me Elizabeth or Lizzy.”

  The expression of heartfelt delight which spread over Miss de Bourgh’s—Anne’s—face became her and suggested a prettiness which might lurk behind her unflattering dresses, severe hairstyles, and general impression of malaise and ill health. Elizabeth did
not think the woman had ever been so happy as she was now, which was truly a pity. In that moment, Elizabeth decided she would do everything in her power to bring a little joy into Anne de Bourgh’s life.

  Chapter VI

  “But I drive my phaeton. Is that not enough?”

  “Do you consider that good exercise? You do nothing but sit and manipulate the reins. The horses do all the work.”

  Miss Anne de Bourgh sat back and considered what Elizabeth said. “Is that why you walk often, Miss Bennet? Is it due to the desire for exercise?”

  “That is one of the reasons,” replied Elizabeth. “The greater purpose is because I love nature and wish to be out among the trees and grasses, to glory in nature and know I am alive, and even to catch a glimpse of wildlife on occasion.” Elizabeth smiled at the other woman. “Have you ever seen a deer close by, Anne?”

  “I have seen them from my windows at times, and I once caught a glimpse of one from my phaeton, though it quickly fled.”

  “Yes, they tend to be shy of humans. But to come on one at a much closer distance is another matter altogether, and it is much more likely without all the noise a phaeton makes. They are such majestic creatures, especially the bucks with their large antlers. Now, you do not wish to come too close to them, for they are large and can be dangerous at times. But the sight of them is wonderful.”

  A frown settled over Miss de Bourgh’s face. “I had never considered it that way before. My mother always tells me that I am too ill to walk—or to do much of anything, really.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps I would enjoy walking if I had the chance. But it is out of the question. My mother would never allow it, and there would be such a to-do if she discovered that I was disobeying her.”

  Elizabeth paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. This was one of those instances she found quite trying—Lady Catherine, for all that she was Anne’s mother, should not have enough power over her to direct her in everything. Anne was of age and could do as she wished!