“Excellent. You may go.”
As the housekeeper retreated, Georgiana Darcy hovered on the threshold, her eyes wide, clutching a piece of sheet music to her chest.
Georgiana’s understanding of her older cousin was based on a few brief and tense visits to Rosings Park. She had always known Anne to be a sickly figure who blended into the damask upholstery and spoke only in whispers. Because of the difference in their ages and Lady Catherine’s oppressive shadow, they had never had a genuine relationship.
“Anne?” Georgiana whispered, stepping hesitantly into the room. “You are... you are speaking at a normal volume.”
“I am, Georgiana.” Anne turned to her younger cousin with a brilliant smile. “And I am perpendicular. It is a miracle. Come here, let me look at you.”
Georgiana approached cautiously, as if expecting Anne to shatter. “But... your cough? Your vapours?”
“I left my vapours in Kent,” Anne declared with a shrug, gesturing for Georgiana to sit on the adjacent sofa. “They are currently residing in my mother’s imagination. You have grown, Georgiana. You are so elegant, considering you areforced to endure Fitzwilliam’s brooding presence on a daily basis.”
Georgiana let out a startled trill of laughter. The novelty of someone openly mocking her formidable brother—and doing so from his own armchair—was apparently intoxicating.
“He does not brood all the time,” Georgiana defended him, though her eyes were dancing. “He hummed a few minutes ago.”
“Did he?” Anne raised an eyebrow at Darcy. “Good heavens. I assume the apocalypse is imminent. Tell me, Georgiana, what do you do for amusement in this cavernous museum? Please tell me you do not spend your days embroidering cushions.”
“I play the pianoforte.” Georgiana’s posture relaxed under the warmth of Anne’s unapologetic vitality, allowing the first seed of a friendship to take root. Georgiana, starved of clever, confident female companionship, was instantly drawn to her cousin’s mischievous energy. “And... and I read.”
“Excellent. We shall read together. Out loud. And we shall choose something inappropriate.”
“A noble itinerary,” a sensible voice came from the doorway.
Mrs Annesley stepped into the morning room. Georgiana’s companion was a woman of quiet dignity, impeccably dressed in dark grey, with an aura of serene competence.
“Mrs Annesley.” Darcy pushed off from the window frame to perform the introductions. “May I present my cousin, Miss de Bourgh. Anne, this is Mrs Annesley. She is responsible for keeping this household relatively civilised.”
Anne narrowed her eyes, assessing the older woman. Darcy braced himself. He knew Anne was eager to live her life for once, and he feared she might perceive the companion as an extension of her gaolers. Anne did not fake a cough, nor did she adopt a languid pose. Instead, she met Mrs Annesley’s gaze head-on, her chin tilted in a challenge.
“I am told, Mrs Annesley, that you have medical competence,” Anne said, her tone sharp. “I should warn you, my mother expects me to require constant, hovering supervision and a strict regimen of noxious syrups. If you approach me with a bottle of cod liver oil, I will throw it out of the window.”
“I assure you, Miss de Bourgh, my medical kit is securely locked away,” Mrs Annesley replied, stepping further into the room. “Given your current colour and the volume at which you just addressed the housekeeper, I suspect the only remedy you require is an uninterrupted hour at a circulating library, a large slice of cake, and perhaps a chaperone who knows how to look the other way when necessary.”
Anne stared at the companion. The silence stretched for a beat, and then she let out a bark of laughter.
“I like her, Fitzwilliam,” she announced, pointing a triumphant finger at Mrs Annesley. “Keep her. She is superior to Mrs Jenkinson.”
“I shall endeavour to retain my position, Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs Annesley murmured, her eyes twinkling as she moved to arrange the tea tray.
The atmosphere in the room hummed with this new, energetic dynamic. Darcy felt the knot of his familial anxieties loosening. His home was alive.
“So.” Anne accepted a cup of tea. “The fortress of Darcy House is secured. We have escaped the dragon. What is the next objective, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy set his coffee cup down and looked at his sister, weighing his options. He had dreaded telling her, yet simultaneously yearned for the moment he could finally speak the words aloud.
“The next objective,” Darcy began, “involves a specific... geographical shift in our social calls.”
Georgiana looked up, her teacup pausing. “A shift?”
“Yes.” Darcy took a deep breath, meeting Georgiana’s wide eyes. “Tomorrow morning, we shall not be calling upon our usual acquaintances in Mayfair. We shall be ordering the carriage for Gracechurch Street. In Cheapside.”
Georgiana looked from Darcy to Anne, and then back to Darcy, her mouth falling open in a small ‘o’ of shock.
“What is there?” she asked.
Darcy exchanged a look with Anne. Anne nodded, and he took a deep breath.
