Darcy could not recall the last time he had heard Anne speak more than a fragment of a thought. He encouraged her to continue. “Oh?”
“Mr. Jones told me he adds bilberry juice to make the tonic more palatable. It sounds quite delicious.” She clasped her hands together and looked down at the ground, as though expecting reproof for over speaking.
Even Mrs. Jenkinson looked uncomfortable, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes darting everywhere and landing on no one.
Darcy was at a loss. Fortifying tonics and calming draughts were not his areas of expertise. Would that Mrs. Bennet were here. She was an authority on the subject.
Finally, Anne spoke, her voice so soft, Darcy struggled to hear her. “Mother has charged Mr. Collins to ascertain the state of Miss Elizabeth’s health.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. He ought to have known that Mr. Collins’ concern for his cousin had nothing to do with her welfare and everything to do with hisattempts to ingratiate himself to his patroness. “He is spying for her.”
“She swore she would never set foot at Longbourn after her last … exchange … with Miss Elizabeth.”
How could he forget his aunt’s rudeness? On one hand, her conduct was shameful. On the other, her meddling had ultimately given him reason to hope … besides granting him increased patience for the Bennets’ frequent breaches of propriety.
Anne leaned against Mrs. Jenkinson as though she might faint. Her eyes were too large for her small face. She looked frightened.
Darcy reached out to steady her. “Allow me to see you back to the inn.”
She shook her head. “No. There is more you must know. Mother means to send for a doctor from the asylum. At the first proof of instability, she will write to the director about having Miss Elizabeth committed.”
Hot fury shook Darcy. “She has not the authority.”
“She will call her sanity into question, suggesting that she is a danger.”
“Elizabeth is not mad.”
“The mind is fragile, its workings little understood. People fear what they do not understand. If Mother calls into doubt Miss Elizabeth’s sanity, if she gets others to question her welfare, if she convinces an asylum doctor to confirm her own assessment…”
Cold dread raced through Darcy, chilling him to thebone. “Then it would not matter whether Elizabeth is sound or not. The damage would be done. Even if I could sweep her away from Hertfordshire, I could not prevent word from spreading, from ruining her and bringing ostracism upon her family.”
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his chest. If only Elizabeth’s amnesia had not been so publicly revealed, he could have covered over her injury. But there had been too many witnesses, not all of whom would protect Elizabeth’s interests as he did. Mr. Collins, for one, would blab the news all over the kingdom. Miss Bingley would saturate society with her venom.
His pulse throbbed in his head. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying and failing to contain his fear. What had she said in front of Mr. Collins? Had Elizabeth revealed any weakness his aunt could use against her? He looked wildly about. God help Mr. Collins if he appeared.
“I am so sorry, Darcy. Mother will do anything to keep you from marrying your lady. I will keep watch over her to ensure her letter is not sent. It is the least I can do.”
The softness in Anne’s tone, her offer of help, calmed him enough to abate Darcy’s murderous thoughts toward Mr. Collins. He lowered his hands, clenching them at his sides. He had always compared his aunt’s shocking behavior to that of Mrs. Bennet andher youngest daughters, but this was far beyond the pale. This was cruel. Calculating. Malicious.
“Elizabeth is not insane,” he said, needing Anne to believe him. Needing to strengthen his own belief.
“What matters is what the doctors believe.”
Darcy scoffed. “They believe amnesia is one step from madness.”
Anne nodded.
“Do you think they are right?” Darcy asked, his tone sharper than he had meant it to be.
“I hardly know what I believe. But I am convinced that you are happy with Miss Elizabeth, and I would never agree to marry you knowing that we would forever live afterward with regret.” Her voice trembled.
Darcy had never heard his cousin speak with so much passion. It shamed him to realize he had never before asked her opinion. “What about you, Anne? What do you want?”
“I am resigned to being unhappy. I am ill suited to be anyone’s wife, and I would have been miserable had Mother succeeded in having her way, knowing that you were capable of loving another. Perhaps, given different circumstances, I might have been allowed more freedom … the liberty to better myself…” Her sentence trailed off, her gaze far-off, as though she were in another time or place.
Anne would never be happy until she was free of her mother’s influence.
Darcy felt wretched for Anne, and even more sowhen she proved herself stronger than she gave herself credit for at that moment by smiling.
