“No, you were not rude; you expressed yourself strongly, but there is no other way to make my mother understand.”
“You read the letter?”
“Yes, both hers and yours. I begged her not to send her letter, as I knew we would not marry, but she insisted upon doing so. It should be me apologising, cousin, for not having done more to stop her.”
“Anne, you know that I like you…”
“Of course, and I like you. But we do not love one another, and it is only rational to marry for love if it is at all possible.”
Mr. Darcy stared at his cousin. “Rational to marry for love?” he repeated.
“Yes, certainly. If one is to spend one’s life with another person, is it not in every way sensible to strive for the most convivial union possible? And what better way to accomplish that than to love, very deeply, one’s marital partner?”
“I never thought of it in such a manner,” he said, blankly.
Anne leaned forward. “Fitzwilliam, I have had the opportunity to see a marriage without love; my mother married my father for his title, and possibly because she had few other options. He proposed only because he needed her dowry. They spoke with one another rarely, and lived separate lives in every way. On the other hand, I recall your parents, who treated one another gently and with consideration, and whose faces glowed with light upon beholding the other. Would it not be sensible – rational, if you prefer the word – to choose the latter union?”
Mr. Darcy stared at Anne for a long minute. Seeing her become uncomfortable under his gaze, he averted his eyes. “Have you any interest in someone yourself, Anne?”
“Me? Hardly. Who would I meet, after all, given that I never leave Rosings?”
“Your mother should take you to Town for a Season.”
Anne shrugged. “That will never happen.”
“But why?”
“It is hard to understand what motivates Mother; I suspect that she retains the illusion of having some influence in theton, and knows she would be sorely disillusioned were she to actually go to Town.”
“I wish I could give you a Season, cousin.”
Anne laughed. “Find yourself a wife, and then she may sponsor me. I would accept your hospitality gladly, I assure you.”
Find himself a wife…find himself a wife! That was exactly what he intended to do. He now understood that marrying for love was rational. How had it taken him so long to understand that? He had observed his parents’ marriage, of course, but he had never stopped to consider upon what their happiness was based.
“There you are, Darcy! I thought to go riding; will you accompany me?”
Mr. Darcy rose with alacrity. “I would be delighted, Richard. I must change clothes; wait for me, will you?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam strode into the drawing room, his tall riding boots clicking on the marble floor. “May I join you while I await Darcy?”
“Of course, Richard,” Anne replied, politely.
The Colonel sat; recalling that he was supposed to decide if he could tolerate being married to Anne, he now felt awkward in her presence. “So, Anne,” he began, sounding falsely jovial even in his own ears. “How have you been?”
“Much as you see, cousin.”
He tried again. “Have you met the new Mrs. Collins?”
“I have, and I like her very much. She is not someone who could be a true friend, of course, as Mother would not tolerate it, but I enjoy her company when we happen to meet.”
“So you are not even permitted a friend?” The Colonel’s voice rose in protest. “I shall speak with your mother at once.”
“I beg that you do not, Colonel!”
“Whyever not? Would you not like a closer acquaintance with Mrs. Collins?”
Anne met his eyes squarely. “Surely you understand that if you show too great an interest in my welfare, my mother will immediately believe that your interest stems from a desire to marry me.”
