Page 2 of Resilience

Darcy sighed. “I called my London physician, my uncle’s London physician, and even summoned my physician from Derbyshire. They all agree. Anne will not live to see thirty, and being a year older than I, in all likelihood has fewer than four or five years left. Very likely not even close to that many. If she passed in her sleep before the festive season, it would not surprise me.”

He shuddered. “I feel dirty for even having to consider such things, marrying my cousin, whom I do not love, with the expectation that she will die and leave me a great fortune that I do not need and cannot possibly manage alone. But if I do not do it, Anne will be hounded to her grave. Or worse, forced into marriage with a brute who will abuse her and rush her into an even earlier grave. Anne wishes to remain here, as she always has. I will have a reprieve from my own pursuers, and she can spend the rest of her days in peace. Who am I to deny her such a request? She is not asking me to live here with her, though I will, of course, come as often as I am able.”

“Is it spiritual advice you require, Mr Darcy?” Mr Collins asked. “If you are concerned about your mortal soul, I assure you that doing as your aunt commands and saving your cousin from pain and suffering is noble indee–”

“That is not what I require, Mr Collins.” Mr Darcy turned back to the clergyman sharply. “Anne tells me that you are entirely my aunt’s creature. I have no use for that. I have need of a man of God who will commit to his duty, serve his parishioners, and to be a friend to myself and the future Mrs Darcy, not who will serve only Lady Catherine.”

“I…er…” Mr Collins stammered. “But Lady Catherine…”

“Is not the owner of this estate, nor did she have the authority to appoint you, Mr Collins.” Mr Darcy frowned at him as the man appeared as if he meant to object again. “Rosings Park and the fortune of Sir Lewis was left solely to Anne, who came into her inheritance last year when she turned twenty-five. Lady Catherine has her widow’s portion, which is generous, and the use of the dower house and de Bourgh House in Bath for her lifetime, unless she is invited to share Rosings Park with Anne, which of course she will be unless she becomes impossible to manage. She never had any right to appoint you as rector here before Easter. Only Anne’s signature with that of the bishop protects your right to this living, Mr Collins, and so far, you do not have that. It can be arranged for you to obtain it, if you are willing to submit to a course of self-improvement.”

Mr Collins gasped, open-mouthed. “Self-improvement?”

“I believe in giving people a proper chance, Mr Collins.” Darcy returned to the desk and resumed his seat. “Anne thinks that you ought to be dismissed, but I do not believe in depriving a man of his living unprovoked. She is willing to humour me in this regard. To my understanding, you have not yet come to deserve this living, but if you are willing, you will learn. Are you willing?”

Mr Collins looked doubtful. “I have never been much of a student, but I am not unwilling.”

“All that is necessary is that you spend some time learning your true duties, Mr Collins.” Darcy leaned forward. “You ought to have had a curacy before you were elevated to a living, but my aunt prefers men without confidence in their own abilities. You will travel at my expense to Derbyshire, where you will live and work with the parson who holds the two livings in my gift and his curate. They will teach you what you lack. I will correspond and instruct you in gentlemanly behavior and matters at Hunsford when I am able. If you return in three months and have learned how I wish for you to conduct yourself, then prove yourself over the next year, you may stay. When you return, you will no longer be my aunt’s creature, but God’s, and no other’s. You will no longer allow my aunt to write or correct your sermons. If you cannot write coherent sermons yourself, you will use the Book of Prayer like other clergymen. You will not disclose the confessions or troubles of your parishioners to me or my wife unless it has been deemed acceptable by that parishioner to seek our aid. You will share no parishioner’s troubles at all with Lady Catherine, who you will regard with the utmost respect, but no more. You are to be her spiritual advisor, not her informer, nor her tool. If you would be a friend to me, you will become the sort of man that I can trust with a confidence, one who I can trust with the souls of Hunsford, and to be of assistance to my wife when I am not in Kent.”

“Mr Darcy, I am humbled to think that you believe I am capable of improvement, or worthy of the effort to do so,” Mr Collins babbled. “You see, my father–”

“Mr Collins, a gentleman does not make excuses for his shortcomings.” Mr Darcy rose from his desk and offered the man his hand. “You must take responsibility for your own behaviour, and strive to do better.”

“I will, Mr Darcy! I will learn to become a credit to the glory of Hunsford and Rosings Park, and a friend to you and Miss de Bourgh!” Mr Collins cried.

Mr Darcy sighed.

The following morning, Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy took Miss Anne Maria Constance de Bourgh as his wife. His best friend, Mr Bingley, stood as his attendant. Their cousin, Lady Priscilla, stood up with Anne. Lord Matlock gave away the bride, who was married in a ballgown of Priscilla’s that had been altered to fit in haste. Lady Catherine, knowing how lucky she was that her nephew had finally capitulated, even if only to preserve his cousin’s peace in her last days, was careful not to be smug.

According to the terms of Lewis de Bough’s will, now that Anne was past twenty-five and married, Lady Catherine could be sent to the dower house if she displeased her daughter or son-in-law, since Anne was to remain at Rosings. Anne was not strong enough for the journey north, nor the freezing northern winters of Derbyshire. Darcy had already decreed as the new master of Rosings that his aunt had enjoyed her time as mistress there, and that now Anne would experience hers. Lady Catherine had been moved into an appropriately grand suite of rooms to make way for the new mistress, and fussed less than anyone expected.

Darcy pensioned off Mrs Jenkinson and engaged a younger companion for his new wife. A woman of similar age to Anne, Mrs Chartham was the only child of a late viscount and the unfortunate widow of a scoundrel who lost her generous dowry at the tables. The distant cousin who inherited her father’s estate was of no assistance to her, and so she would offer Anne company, bolster her courage when Anne must defy her mother, and be her friend. Mrs Chartham would arrive in two days. Anne was already excitedly selecting colours and fabrics for the renovations to her new suite, and later in the week, a modiste would arrive from London to fit her for a new wardrobe. It was time for Anne to decorate as she chose and wear what she liked, when she felt well enough to do so.

There was even a new housekeeper, for the old one was thoroughly loyal to Lady Catherine. Torrens was the model of propriety, and transferred his allegiance to Anne and Darcy the instant it became appropriate to do so. The new housekeeper would answer only to Anne, allowing her mistress to manage the household and menus when she was well enough, and take over her duties when she was not. Darcy had brought the deputy housekeeper from Pemberley, so he knew she would be an ally for the new master and mistress against Lady Catherine’s overbearing nature.

The following day, an announcement appeared in The Times, informing all concerned that Anne de Bourgh and Fitzwilliam Darcy were officially and legally off of the marriage mart. Several debutantes and even a few of their mothers did not leave their beds for a week, such was their grief at this news.

Chapter One

Thursday 26 September 1811

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a father with five daughters grown up must be in want of situations for them all. Ironically, such concerns were beneath Mr Thomas Bennet. His wife was concerned enough with the fate of the females in the family. There was no need, in Bennet’s opinion, for both of them to suffer from anxiety.

Such was the way of gentlemen. Gentlemen often had the luxury of having all they required just by virtue of their existence. Women with adequate dowries often experienced a similar lack of concern for the fates of others. Thomas Bennet had never been overly worried about what would happen after his death. Why should he? It was not his affair.

His wife was worried, at least vocally, but not enough to make any financial sacrifices, and if Mrs Bennet was to have her lace, he would have his books and port. It was Mrs Bennet who was responsible for the chances of their daughters, and by Jove, it seemed as if the woman, despite her fierce vocal rants, was actually against the girls, for she prevented their education and accomplishments, and drove men away. She refused to accept that just because her husband had fallen for an ignorant but beautiful seventeen-year-old, did not mean that all men were looking for similar matches.

As Bennet took his seat at the breakfast table, his wife prattled away with four of their daughters, and he thought about the information he had received from his brother earlier this week by letter. Mr Bennet had immediately written back to ask his brother-in-law not to speak of the matter to his sister, Jane, or Lizzy. Gardiner had written back the following morning informing him that he would certainly not keep quiet, and that he would not support Thomas keeping the matter from his wife and daughters, who ought to benefit from Bennet’s new circumstances.

Gardiner would insist on informing Fanny, and probably Elizabeth and Jane if Thomas attempted to keep the entire sum for himself without promising specific dowries to his daughters and security to his wife. Heaven forbid he enjoy his money and leave them with inheritances. He might as well never have made the investment. A wife and five daughters would have the lot spoken for in a matter of minutes.

The only way the sum would serve him–he surmised as his second daughter entered the breakfast room, her walking skirts at least three inches deep in dust–was to rid him of his daughters entirely. If at least Jane was married, she could remove some of the burden of her sisters from him. He might as well break the news to his family today–as distasteful as he found it–before Gardiner wrote to Mrs Bennet.

Elizabeth noticed her father’s odd demeanour as she joined her family at the breakfast table. He had been rather strange since reading a letter he received from Uncle Gardiner earlier in the week, followed by another two days later.

Elizabeth had pointedly asked if her aunt and the children were well several times in an attempt to encourage him to speak on the contents of the missive, which had obviously agitated him. Mr Bennet had been particularly sharp all week. Even to her, he had been unmerciful with his wit. Elizabeth almost wondered if her father was having troubles with money.

At breakfast, Mrs Bennet was droning on about how she would tempt Mr Bingley’s party to dine at Longbourn on Michaelmas three days hence, and the dishes she would like to include to impress Mr Bingley, but were not in her budget. Elizabeth knew her mother was hinting for Mr Bennet to offer her more money, though he was steadily ignoring her.