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  “No,” replied Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy strikes me as a man who likes to have his own way.”

  “And he has the means to have it,” replied Anne. “My mother, however, speaks of nothing else when he is here. I am confident that he has decided against visiting in order to avoid my mother’s diatribes on the subject. As I am quite content, I shall not blame him.”

  “Then why does your mother expect it?” asked Elizabeth. She had heard from Mr. Wickham about this supposed engagement, but he had never been explicit about it. Elizabeth suspected it was mostly because he did not know himself.

  “My mother insists it was an agreement she made with Lady Anne, Darcy’s mother,” said Anne with a shrug. “Darcy and I have never spoken of it, so I do not know what he thinks, or if there was ever such an agreement.”

  “But he does not appear willing to oblige your mother, so it seems he does not see it as valid.”

  “That much is certain. If Darcy was aware that his mother had made such an agreement, I am certain he would consider himself honor bound. He is most attentive to all those things and would never renege if his mother wished for it.”

  Elizabeth thought it curious, indeed, for she was aware that Mr. Darcy did not seem to care about breaking his father’s word with respect to the bequest left to one George Wickham. Would he consider his mother’s commitments to be any more binding than his father’s? It was beyond comprehension.

  Upon arriving at the top of the stairs, Elizabeth first returned to her room to refresh herself and stow her bonnet, but once that was accomplished, she returned to Anne’s room. There, she found her friend, and she noted that Anne was in a contemplative, almost bemused, mood.

  “I have never considered actually marrying my cousin,” said Anne, “though at times I have wondered why not. It is not as if he is ill-favored. Do you not agree?”

  Elizabeth was uncomfortable at Anne’s question—she had other feelings which rendered objectivity questionable when it came to Mr. Darcy. But she could do nothing other than answer.

  “Yes, he is. As handsome a man as I have ever seen.”

  “I wonder what it would be like.” Elizabeth could sense that Anne was not talking to her, perhaps did not even remember she was there. “Being married to him could not be a trial, though he is tall and intimidating. A woman could do much worse than to be the focus of such a man’s attentions.”

  “Perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “I know that much of society looks for a marriage partner with qualities other than attraction and compatibility, but I would not wish for such a marriage.”

  “You prefer to have a marriage of affection?”

  “My elder sister, Jane, and I have always maintained we would only marry for the deepest of love. To be tied to someone whom you disdained—could there be anything more objectionable?”

  The look Anne gave her was positively mischievous. “I suppose that is why you rejected your cousin’s offer?”

  Starting with surprise, Elizabeth blurted: “You know of that?”

  “Mr. Collins is eager to share everything with my mother. When he returned to Hunsford after becoming engaged to your friend, one of his first actions was to visit my mother, and one of the first words out of his mouth was how he had returned engaged, in accordance with her instructions. It was not soon after when he informed her of how you had refused, terminating his obligation to his family.”

  “I suppose I should have known,” muttered Elizabeth.

  “Yes, I dare say you should have.” Anne giggled. “Though I had never met you, I was immediately impressed with your sagacity in refusing him.”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “No, I could never be happy with such a man for a husband. I wish for a true meeting of the minds with my future husband and will not settle for anything less.”

  “I can see how that would be desirable.”

  Though Anne fell silent, Elizabeth could see that she was considering the matter at further length, and though she did not say anything, Elizabeth wondered at her conclusions. She did not see how anyone could be happy in such a marriage, but she would never wish Anne to live by her principles if she did not share them. She had made that mistake with Charlotte.

  “I would need to know Darcy better if I was to ever accept an offer,” said Anne a little later.

  “You said he would not offer,” replied Elizabeth.

  “And I still believe that. But if he were to offer for me, I would wish to know more of him. Of course, with my mother in attendance, I would never receive the opportunity, for she would interfere constantly.”

  “Perhaps you should go to London, then. You could attend events of society and culture with him and learn more of him. I have found that conversation while dancing often reveals more of a man than he would wish a lady to know. He must put some of his concentration into the steps, after all, and that lack of concentration on his words will often cause him to reveal more than he wants.”

  “But I have never danced!”

  Elizabeth stared at Anne as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. “You have never danced?”

  It appeared like Anne was amused at Elizabeth’s surprise. “You do remember who my mother is, do you not? Anything she deems unnecessary to my education—or more importantly, does not forward her design to see me married to Darcy—is ignored. Why should I be taught how to dance? I am to marry Darcy, so the normal rules of courtship do not apply. Besides, if I were to dance with other men, I might take a fancy to one of them, and that would never do.”

  Though Anne spoke in a matter of fact tone, Elizabeth could hear the bitterness inherent in it. Even more distressing, Elizabeth thought that Anne was hardly aware of it herself. It was simply another facet of her life, one which was, and could not, be changed. But underneath Anne’s seeming complacency, Elizabeth wondered if there was not a burning sea of resentment, one which might flow out at any time.

  “No, that will not do, indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth, shooting to her feet. “And it is something we must remedy immediately. Please stand, if you will.”

  Anne was confused, but she readily rose and looked at Elizabeth askance. “Dancing is a skill every woman should learn, and I will not have you remain ignorant.”

  “You propose to teach me how to dance?” gasped Anne.

  “I do.” Elizabeth gave her a mischievous grin. “My sisters and I have often stood up with each other when there are not enough gentlemen, so while I am not an expert at the steps a man would use, I am at least competent.”

  “But we have no music,” said Anne. Though she continued to protest, Elizabeth thought she was not averse to it—in fact, the light of interest shone in Anne’s eyes, a curiosity which had often been absent, but now appeared with greater frequency.

  “I have a voice, and it is tolerable for singing,” replied Elizabeth.

  She began to hum the tunes of a well-known and beloved dance, and she began to move in the steps. It was quite obviously a bit of a mishmash, but Anne laughed and quickly began to move with Elizabeth, her feet executing the steps where Elizabeth directed. In this pleasant way, they passed the rest of the afternoon.

  Chapter VII

  The next days were pleasant, and Elizabeth was certain it was largely because of Lady Catherine’s absence from their lives. The lady was in high dudgeon those days, ranting about her nephew’s lack of consideration and less than pleasing attention to his duty whenever they were in her company. But the initial days of her displeasure were nothing compared to the fury she displayed when Mr. Darcy returned her letter, reiterating his inability to present himself at Rosings and confirming the cancellation of his visit. The younger ladies happened to be present when it arrived, and Elizabeth thought Lady Catherine might suffer apoplexy, for her face was as red as a beet, and she stood and stormed about the room, flinging her hands wildly in the air and ranting.

  Elizabeth and Anne quickly excused themselves from the room, eager to be out of her company and r
emoving themselves as possible targets for her ire. They did not see much of Lady Catherine for the next several days, even to the extent that she sent for a tray in her rooms rather than coming to dinner. Elizabeth found she could endure the loss of Lady Catherine’s society quite cheerfully.

  “It has always been thus,” said Anne once they had reached the safety of her room. “My mother, as you have seen, does not take well to being denied. She will brood for a few days before she regains her prior composure, and then she will act as if nothing happened.”

  “Such sudden rage cannot be good for her health,” ventured Elizabeth.

  With a sigh, Anne shook her head. “No, I suppose it is not. It is fortunate they happen infrequently, for rarely does anyone defy her to this extent. But I have worried for her.”

  They fell into silence and stayed that way until Anne perked up and decided she wished to dance again. Dancing was one of their most diverting amusements in those days, and Anne took every opportunity to indulge. She was not light on her feet, and Elizabeth thought that to be due to a lack of exercise, for she was not heavyset or ponderous. But as they practiced, it was clear she was a quick study, for she quickly became, if not proficient, at least competent, though Elizabeth could not know how she would do in a ballroom with music playing.

  Another activity they discovered was music. Elizabeth, though she could never consider herself extraordinarily talented, could play with sufficient skill, and one day when they were talking on the subject, Anne expressed an interest.

  “I assume your mother has never given you leave to learn?”

  “My health does not allow for it.” By now, Elizabeth was used to these matter of fact statements from Anne. But recently they had been colored by a hint of exasperation, and more than a hint of resentment.

  “I do not know how much health is required to simply sit on a bench at the pianoforte,” replied Elizabeth. “Is there one in the house we could use without exciting your mother’s suspicion.”

  Anne considered it. “There is one in Mrs. Jenkinson’s old room. We would have to be careful, as there will be servants in that part of the house.”

  “If we close the door and the servants become accustomed to me playing, word should not get back to your mother.”

  “Exactly.”

  Thus, they began to visit Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. The first few times, Elizabeth played for Anne, who enjoyed hearing her, but when they thought the servants were becoming accustomed to hearing the sounds echoing through the halls, Elizabeth began to give Anne tutelage, showing her some simple exercises which she could use to increase the dexterity and strength of her fingers. The progress was necessarily slow—one did not learn to play overnight, and Elizabeth did not consider herself an excellent teacher. Of course, it would have been foolhardy to assume word of their frequent presence in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room would not reach Lady Catherine’s ears.

  “I understand you have been using the pianoforte below stairs,” observed Lady Catherine one day. She had finally emerged from her self-imposed exile exactly as Anne said she would. Even an oblique reference to her nephew would bring a scowl, so they avoided that subject at all costs.

  “Yes, Mother,” replied Anne. “Elizabeth plays for me—I do so enjoy it, for she plays very well, indeed.”

  Lady Catherine grunted. “She could do with more practice, for one can never become proficient without the benefit of frequent practice.”

  “Then Elizabeth is taking your advice seriously.”

  The look with which Lady Catherine pierced her daughter suggested suspicion. “You now refer to her by her Christian name?”

  “Of course,” replied Anne, never batting an eyelash. “She is near to my own age, unlike Mrs. Jenkinson. It is simpler to refer to her informally.”

  “And does she refer to you in a similar manner?”

  “We maintain formality for the benefit of the servants, Mother.”

  It was clear Lady Catherine wished to rebuke them further, but instead she changed the subject again. “Why do you not play in the music room then, Miss Bennet?”

  “We thought it would be better to play below stairs, so we did not disturb you. Miss de Bourgh and I both understand the extensive work you do for Rosings and the surrounding community.”

  There was no better way to gain Lady Catherine’s approval than to flatter her vanity. The lady’s expression softened at Elizabeth’s words, and she nodded with evident approval.

  “Very well. But I would appreciate some music in the main rooms of the house as well.”

  “Of course,” replied Elizabeth. “I would be happy to play for you in the evenings.”

  The two young ladies were soon dismissed, and they returned to Anne’s room, neither able to stifle their giggles as they walked. “You have become adept at deflecting my mother,” whispered Anne as they entered her room.

  “It is not difficult,” replied Elizabeth. “In some ways, redirecting her is similar to how I would do the same with Mr. Collins, or even my own mother.”

  “Lizzy!” gasped Anne. “Did you just compare my mother to her sycophantic parson?”

  “Perhaps I did,” replied Elizabeth, and they both collapsed with laughter. “You have to own the likeness!”

  “I suppose it is true, though I will say my mother is more intelligent than Mr. Collins.”

  “That is not difficult, Mr. Collins being what he is.”

  Anne laughed again, but then in an imperious imitation of her mother, she rose and held out her hand. “Come, it is time for my dance lesson.”

  They had only been engaged in the activity for some few moments before Anne’s maid entered the room from her dressing room. Anne halted her steps and regarded Laura with wide eyes. They had taken great care to avoid notice of any of the servants, but they had both simply forgotten to check her rooms before they began.

  “Laura!” exclaimed Anne. “We did not know you were here.”

  “Yes, mum,” said the girl. “I was inspecting your dresses to ensure there are none which require washing.”

  Anne’s eyes darted nervously at Elizabeth before returning to the maid. “I hope word of this . . . incident will not make it back to my mother.”

  The maid hesitated, and Elizabeth could see in her eyes something that she had not expected—sympathy for Anne.

  “You understand I would lose my position if Lady Catherine were to learn that I knew of this and did not report it.”

  “I do understand,” replied Anne. “But she will not. I do not intend for her to find out, and even if she does, I will ensure you are not involved.”

  It was clear to Elizabeth that the maid had no confidence in Anne’s ability to resist her mother. But she nodded her head and agreed, prompting a smile of thanks from Anne.

  “But you should be aware that none of the other servants will keep your secret. Should any of them become aware of this, Lady Catherine will know of it instantly.”

  “I believe we have apprehended that fact,” replied Anne. “We will take care.”

  The incident highlighted Anne’s continuing hesitance to assert herself, frustrating Elizabeth in the process. She did not wish for there to be argument and disharmony at Rosings, but she was coming to the opinion that if they continued in this manner, it was approaching all the same.

  As Elizabeth was coming to know Anne better, she was finding that she liked her very much, indeed. Anne was an estimable sort of girl, and even though her ability to interact with others was at times rudimentary, and she often betrayed an imperiousness about her which could only be attributed to her mother, she was also kind, thoughtful, and displayed an eagerness to please, which itself was quite pleasing. Elizabeth only wished she could be more assertive, could direct her life in a manner which she saw fit, without constantly bowing to her mother’s demands. But Anne was not yet willing to draw Lady Catherine’s attention or risk her ire. Given what Elizabeth was teaching her, she thought it would b
e better to weather the explosion sooner, rather than later. In the end, she could only practice patience and attempt to coax her toward more independence.

  The other problem Elizabeth was facing was that the time for her departure was quickly approaching, and though she could not have fathomed it when she first came to Rosings, she was loath to leave. Or perhaps it was more truthful to say she did not wish to leave Anne—to Rosings she had no particular attachment. When she mentioned this concern to Anne, she was confronted with such a look of dejection, she was quick to offer to stay.

  “I can, perhaps, stay a few weeks longer. But there will come a time when my father will require my return. He has already written of it.”

  “I would be grateful if you could stay,” said Anne. “I have come to rely on your company.”

  So, it was settled. Elizabeth wrote to her uncle, requesting that he allow her to stay two more weeks, and he responded, agreeing with her request, but noting that her father might call her home at any time.

  The subject of Anne’s continued timidity continued to prey on Elizabeth’s mind, and it was not long before she wished for another opinion. Speaking to Anne of it was, of course, of little use, but there was one in the neighborhood on whom Elizabeth could rely to keep her confidence. Thus, on a day when Anne decided to nap in the afternoon—such occurrences had been rare in recent days—Elizabeth left Rosings and made her way to the parsonage to confer with her friend.

  Charlotte greeted and welcomed her, pleasure evident in her voice and posture, and even Maria seemed happy to see her. It was the work of a few moments to convince the younger girl that Elizabeth had confidences to share with her sister, and she withdrew with cheerful willingness, retiring to the back lawn to walk in the gardens.

  “I have heard you have extended your stay,” said Charlotte when her sister had gone. “Considering how you dreaded going to Rosings in the first place, I find it to be rather surprising. I had thought you would be impatient to be gone.”