Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and, glancing over it, said, in a colder voice,—
“Are you pleased with Kent?”
GIMME DARCY SCOOT-SCOOTING HIS CHAIR ACROSS THE FLOOR, PLEASE
Every visit to Rosings was a trial. As a small child, it had perhaps been most bearable, Darcy whisked away to the nursery where his cousin Dickon was often already settled, making the most of the hobbyhorse which Anne was too young to mount and which would be of little use to her as she would expected to ride side-saddle as soon as she was put upon a pony. Anne’s nurse was apt to ply them with shortbread to get them to behave properly, unlike Darcy’s nurse at Pemberley who would not have hesitated to box their ears. They were brought down to the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, standing as still as they could, Dickon having invented the game he called living statues to help pass the time. It would stand Darcy in good stead over the years, especially when he was most in company. At Rosings, they would be inspected, praised by Darcy’s mother, criticized by Aunt Catherine, and offered cakes by Dickon’s mother, who was quite plump and fussed least about crumbs and sticky fingers.
Returning every year was an obligation, one which only grew more binding after his mother’s death, though her absence was keenly felt, unblunted by time as Georgianna grew to resemble her. Her daughter was more like her in manner than in coloring, though she had her fair and unblemished complexion. Darcy could no sooner have stayed away from Rosings than gallop to the Moon upon a road of starlight, a fanciful image he’d conjured for Georgianna one night when she was recovering from a childhood illness, still fretful from her fever. If their mother had lived, perhaps he might have visited friends, stayed in London and made a wider acquaintance than that of the Bingleys, however fond he was of Charles. As it was, it was Darcy’s fondness which kept Charles from suffering more than one visit to Rosings, a boon even the sunny-natured Bingley was deeply thankful for. Darcy went, Georgianna accompanying him if her health allowed, the only argument Aunt Catherine would ever countenance, and he sat through dull afternoons and duller dinners, dull vintages and even duller volumes in the Rosings library. He listened to his cousin Anne play endless sonatas competently but without any particular feeling and he did his best to keep from striking the sycophant vicar Mr. Collins his aunt had given the Rosings living to; unlike her, Darcy was not remotely pleased by the man’s obviously intricately planned adulatory remarks, the slavering expression in his rather small eyes every time he uttered the most-esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an appellation Darcy felt did not need to be mentioned in every third sentence.
A visit to Rosings was a trial and an obligation, a chore and a burden, until he arrived and found a stranger at the pianoforte, a vibrant, chestnut-haired young woman in a very simple muslin gown, his cousin Anne sitting beside her. Anne had never looked more sallow and sickly, her costly gown and jewels emphasizing her frailty in contrast to the bloom of the woman beside her, whose hair was held back by a plain ribbon fillet, her only adornment a modest little cross of some dark stones. She was playing the piano with more zest than accuracy and Darcy was dismayed to be unsure which aspect was pleasing Anne enough to make her pallid lips curve in a small but entirely genuine smile.
Anne stood when she saw him while the woman stopped playing but remained seated. He walked over to greet his cousin, bowing smartly while she made a gesture akin to a curtsy, the formality due their stations far outweighing any mild familial affection they might have for each other.
“Cousin Fitzwilliam, welcome. If you are here, you must have already seen Mama who have advised you to come. I hope your journey was not too taxing and that you will stay here a while and enjoy some music. My new companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, came just last fortnight. She is the cousin of the vicar and Mr. Collins was only too glad to discover he might have been able to in any minute way be of service to me, and by extension, my most-esteemed mother, Lady Catherine,” Anne said. She’d spoken more words than Darcy had ever heard her utter at one time, and though she was still quite pale and her curls rather lank and drooping, there was an unusual animation in her tone. She turned slightly to face Miss Bennet. “That is how he said it, wasn’t it, dear Elizabeth?”
“I believe he was only too glad and most assuredly blessed beyond measure,” Miss Bennet replied. She had the finest dark eyes Darcy had ever seen and her voice was confident and gay, far different from every other companion he’d ever encountered, women most often faded misses of indeterminate age who spoke little and softly, nearly always offering only an affirmation.
“That’s him exactly. He’d pressed his hands together as if he were about to give a homily in the pulpit and Mama gave him her falcon-sighting-prey glare and he only nodded his head several times,” Anne said.
“He was honest though. I’ve never met someone as delighted as Mr. Collins is to render even the most insignificant service to Lady Catherine and I myself am certainly fortunate to have been offered the position as your companion,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy had never heard a companion speak so frankly to her betters about her role and felt he ought to be disgusted. Instead he was diverted, a condition he experienced rarely.
“I am the fortunate one, as you are far more lively and engaging than I could ever be. I’ve never known the days to pass so quickly,” Anne said.
“They shall pass quicker still when your strength improves and our walks about the countryside are more extensive,” Miss Bennet said, a remark which could have been cutting, as if might have been if Miss Caroline Bingley, Charles’s rather odious sister, had spoken it, but which was only imbued with a gentle, genuine warmth and kindness. “Though you risk a muddy hem three inches deep when you join me and your mother may be as disappointed in your deportment as she was in mine. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I did not bow my head and offer an apology. Indeed, my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”
“You are singular, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“And you have not even heard me attempt ‘Les deux petits savoyards,’” she countered, moving her hands back to the pianoforte’s keys.
“Oh do play, dear Elizabeth,” Anne said and Darcy inclined his head in agreement, at a loss for words. The melody began, quite spirited, much like the musician herself and Darcy realized this visit to Rosings was itself singular.
For he had fallen in love. With his Cousin Anne’s paid companion. A servant.
Somehow, he’d have to find a way to marry her.
Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 7, prompt: servant.
Headcanon- Elizabeth requests they make a trip towards Rosings, which is entirely out of the ordinary for her as she and Lady Catherine never interact if either of them could help it, and of course the unusualness of the request has Darcy complying. When Lizzie arranges for their tea to be at the same place where Darcy first proposed and was rejected, Darcy immediately knows something is up as he swore he would never return the place. But there under the roof and between the column in the same place as the rejection that once was, this is where Lizzie breaks the news to Darcy that she is expecting a child.
The very last evening was spent there; and her ladyship again inquired minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing, and was j at urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.
