He lifted his glass slightly. “And I suspect you are the happier man for them.”
Darcy studied him more closely now. There was something beneath the lightness, something quieter.
“Are you certain of what you have chosen?” Darcy asked.
Richard’s mouth curved slightly. “You mean marrying Anne, I presume?”
“Yes. You have always enjoyed society. Movement. Freedom. Anne… does not.”
Richard set his glass aside, folding his arms loosely. “You fear I shall feel confined.”
“I fear,” Darcy said carefully, “that you may not fully comprehend what such a life would be like. And that she—” he paused, choosing his words, “—may be further distressed by the married state and all that entails.”
Richard was silent for a moment.
Then he took a slow breath.
“I have seen men like her before,” he said.
Darcy frowned slightly. “In what way?”
“Men who return from battle uninjured in body,” Richard said quietly, “and yet cannot bear to cross a room. Or step outside. Or endure the press of voices.”
His gaze grew distant.
“It is not cowardice. It is not weakness. It is… something else. Something that takes hold and does not easily release.”
Darcy watched him closely.
“I have seen what helps,” Richard continued. “And what does not. What drives them further inward—and what allows them, sometimes, to take a step back toward the world.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “I do not flatter myself that I can cure her. But I think… I may understand her. Better than most.”
His voice trailed off, and his eyes glazed over. Darcy watched as his cousin stared into the fireplace, the flames dancing in his eyes. Richard was there, but he seemed to also be somewhere else.
“Was it that bad, then?”
Richard uttered a short, humorless snort. “Worse than you could possibly imagine.”
The words settled heavily between them. For once, Darcy did not know what to say. He had always been the elder cousin, the one to give advice, to provide guidance. But all he could think to say was, “I am so sorry.”
Richard pushed away from the sideboard, poured himself another measure, and drank it down in a single swallow.
“It is done,” he said, more briskly. “Behind me. And if Anne and I may find some measure of peace together—then I shall call it a fortunate outcome.”
He glanced at Darcy, a faint edge of his usual humor returning. “Rosings offers a far more comfortable alternative to the battlefield, in spite of its ghastly decor.”
Darcy allowed the hint of a smile. “That it does.”
“And Anne…” Richard added, more quietly, “Anne deserves someone who will not try to force her into a world she cannot endure.”
Darcy inclined his head. “That is reason enough.”
Richard looked at him, and for a moment, something like relief crossed his face. “Then you do not think me a complete fool?”
“Not entirely,” Darcy said.
Richard laughed softly. “High praise indeed.”
