He had not raised his voice, yet Matlock’s tone carried unmistakable authority.
Granfield observed the faint compression at the corners of the other earl’s mouth and recognised the patience that had at last worn thin.
Matlock rose from his chair.
“Darcy is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet—the granddaughter of the Earl of Granfield.” He inclined his head towards the other gentleman in deliberate acknowledgment, the gesture serving less as courtesy than a request for consent to speak more fully on the matter. Granfield answered it with a slight return of composure.
“Their child will inherit the earldom,” Matlock continued. “Miss Bennet brings with her a substantial dowry, an estate that will become hers upon marriage, and the consequence of being thefuture mother of an earl. Even with Rosings, Anne cannot rival such a position.”
His gaze settled once more upon Lady Catherine.
“But that is of secondary importance. She is Darcy’s choice. He has never acknowledged any obligation to marry Anne—nor has anyone else in this family. You have simply dismissed what did not suit you, and we long ago determined that argument would avail us nothing.”
“But Anne—” Lady Catherine began again, her composure visibly faltering.
Granfield turned at the faint sound of movement behind her.
She was interrupted—not by her brother, but by a quieter voice from the doorway.
“Will be perfectly content if she remains unmarried.”
Anne de Bourgh paused just within the threshold, one gloved hand resting lightly against the doorframe for support. Her complexion was pale, and Granfield could not determine whether the strain arose from addressing the room or from the fatigue of the day’s journey. Whatever the cause, she held herself with quiet steadiness.
All attention turned towards her.
“I am aware that my father’s will settled Rosings upon me at five-and-twenty,” she said, drawing a measured breath before continuing. “I have permitted Mama to manage the estate only because I had no wish to be burdened with it.”
Her fingers tightened briefly against the wood before she released it.
“That indulgence may be reconsidered—if she persists.”
Matlock crossed the room at once and assisted his niece into a chair. She accepted the support without protest; once seated she straightened, as if determined that assistance should not be mistaken for incapacity.
“Mother,” she resumed, her voice softer now yet unmistakably deliberate, “I did not object to this journey because it would have been futile. Had I refused, you would have come without me. I required my uncle’s presence to ensure that I was heard and that matters could be settled as I wished.”
She paused, folding her hands carefully in her lap.
“I am relieved to learn that Cousin Darcy is engaged—if only because it will bring an end to your repeated assertions of a supposed arrangement. You did not speak of it to me until after Uncle Darcy’s death. Thereafter, you spoke of little else.”
Granfield observed the faint tremor that followed, and the brief pause in which she gathered herself. The effort was evident, despite her attempts to conceal it.
“I would ask that Uncle Henry review the estate accounts in Cousin Darcy’s stead each year and advise me as I begin to assume greater responsibility at Rosings. The house…” She hesitated, colour touching her cheeks. “It has grown unnecessarily ostentatious. I should prefer comfort to display.”
Her hands clasped more firmly together.
“I regret that I did not prevent the living from being granted to Mr Collins. He may yet persuade some sensible woman to accept him, although I confess I do not greatly expect it. Should thatoccur—and should Cousin Darcy visit—I might at least find in his wife a companion.”
She turned towards her uncle, her composure intact though a faint pallor deepened along her cheek.
“Uncle, I should like a companion who is not appointed by my mother—someone whose loyalty is to me rather than to her. I do not desire to be governed, nor managed, nor reminded at every turn of my supposed frailty. I wish for someone nearer my own age… and nearer my equal.”
“How dare you?” Lady Catherine cried, colour rising sharply in her cheeks. “How dare you presume to displace me at Rosings? I care nothing for what your father’s will may state. Rosings ought properly to have been mine. What need have you of another companion? Am I not companion enough?”
Anne did not shrink from the outburst, her fingers drawing inward against her palm.
“Mother,” she said, her voice low but steady, “I have little desire to be cosseted or perpetually directed—told what to think, what to eat, or when to retire. I may not possess the strength to marry or to live precisely as others do, yet I wish for more than I am presently permitted to experience.”
She paused, steadying her voice before proceeding.
