Page 48 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

We were in the library when he told me, and I must have looked quite distraught, because he looked at me for a moment before asking what troubled me most.

I had not meant to tell him. He had been so certain on Saturday that James could do nothing without my uncle’s consent, and I did not wish him to think I doubted his word. But I could not rid myself of the picture of James arriving to take Lady Catherine away, with everybody bowing and opening doors for him.

“Would the servants know that they ought not to obey him?” I asked.

Richard’s expression changed from concern to understanding. “Those who attend her?”

I nodded. “They would know who he was. And he can be very certain that everybody ought to do as he says.”

“Yes,” Richard said, rather dryly. “He can.”

“If he said that my uncle wished her to go elsewhere, would they know that he was not speaking the truth?”

Richard did not immediately answer, which frightened me more than I wished to show.

“That is a very sensible question,” he said at last. “And one upon which we must have no uncertainty. I shall speak to my father about giving explicit instructions.”

“I thought perhaps I was being foolish.”

“No, Anne. Your fears are not foolish, and you are not foolish.”

He said it so firmly that I almost believed him.

Then he told me that he might go to Scotland himself, if he and my uncle thought it necessary.

I looked at his cane, which rested against the arm of his chair.

“But it is such a long way, and you have only just begun to look less tired!”

“I shall not undertake the journey without considering it properly.”

I wished I had held my tongue. I had wanted him to reassure me, and instead I seemed to have supplied him with another reason to go away.

He must have guessed something of my thoughts, for he reached across and took my hand.

“You have not caused this trouble, Annie. You never cause any trouble.”

“It seems to find me all the same,” I said, a little darkly, and he let out a sort of half-laugh.

“It is a good thing that you have Darcy and myself, and my father, willing and able to help you out of those troubles then, is it not? No, do not look guilty,” when I must have let that emotion show on my face. “I am glad to be able to do something for you. The guilt must be all ours, for not having noticed for far too long that you needed our help!”

I attempted to disclaim that, but Richard would have none of it. He picked up his cane and took himself off, leaving me sitting alone, missing him already though he has not even left yet.

Sanderson had everything ready before luncheon. I cannot imagine how he contrives to pack so quickly, though I suppose he has had a great deal of practice. He seemed pleased that they were travelling at a reasonable hour, and less pleased when Richard attempted to carry a book which he had already decided belonged in the carriage.

“I am still capable of carrying a book, Sanderson.”

“Certainly, sir. I have put it beside your seat.”

Richard looked at his empty hand, then at me. “You see how little authority I possess.”

“I think you ought to be grateful!” I exclaimed. I certainly was. Knowing how Sanderson cared for him was a great comfort to me.

“So he is continually telling me.”

I laughed, though I had not expected to laugh again before he went.

Elizabeth made him promise to write, and Georgiana reminded him of her birthday.