Page 12

The message was from his uncle, Lord Matlock, asking him to come at once about an urgent family matter. The request surprised Darcy, since his uncle preferred to attend to business in the morning and seldom discussed it in the afternoon, but the note left him little choice. He took his hat and cane and told his butler to inform Georgiana that he had been called away.

“Please inform her that she will probably have to dine with Mrs Annesley alone,” he said.

Uncertain how to travel, Darcy finally decided to ride, finding comfort in the brisk pace and the wind upon his face, which helped to soothe his troubled mind.

It was not anxiety that troubled him, but sadness and a measure of remorse over how he had proposed to Elizabeth. Ashamed of the manner in which he had asked her to marry him, he understood her rejection to be justified. Meeting her again had brought back every reproach he had made about her family, but there was much more to it: he had never doubted that she would accept him, nor had he concerned himself with whether she loved him. Several months had passed, and he had believed he was beginning to forget, but that was not true. Seeing Elizabeth again, so full of life, beautiful, elegant and somehow more kindly disposed towards him, had shown him that he had only buried his love, not lost it.

Then Georgiana’s words had given him a faint hope that Elizabeth might regard him with some admiration. At Hunsford, he had believed her decision to be final. Yet, since he had changed, might Elizabeth have changed too, revised her first impression and considered accepting his love? Only a woman as admirable as Elizabeth could have forgiven his terrible way of declaring it. Love could not spring from mockery and criticism. He had behaved dreadfully, yet she seemed to have forgiven him.

Upon his arrival, Darcy was puzzled to find his uncle, Lord Matlock, his cousin Lord Wellford and the colonel waiting for him, each holding a glass of brandy. They appeared to have been engaged in a serious discussion, and his cousins rose to shake his hand, making him wonder all the more what had happened. Darcy tried to think of a problem that required such a gathering, but he could imagine nothing of sufficient gravity. He took a generous swallow of his uncle’s excellent brandy to dispel his unease.

“Son, Mr Howell, our family solicitor, brought me some disturbing news about you,” Lord Matlock began, and Darcy wondered what could make his uncle speak so gravely. “He came to me because I was the executor of your mother’s will.”

Darcy was perplexed. His mother’s will had been clear, and everything had been carried out promptly in the year following her death.

“This morning, Mr Howell received from your aunt Catherine a codicil to your mother’s will, which she claims was drawn up during the final month of Anne’s life. Catherine says she has only recently discovered it among old family papers. The document concerns your marriage to her daughter, your cousin Anne.”

Lord Matlock handed Darcy a copy of the document, his expression grave.

Darcy read the codicil, apparently drawn up by a solicitor, with its formal legal language, the names of two witnesses, the place, the date and his mother’s signature, which seemed authentic. His uncle and cousins remained silent while he examined the contents again.

But what disturbed him still more was his mother’s supposed declaration that he had given his consent to the marriage on the day the document was signed.

“My consent?” he said. “What nonsense is this?”

“You do not remember discussing such a thing with Lady Anne?” the colonel asked.

“I spoke a great deal with Mama during those days—” Darcy drew a long breath, for even after ten years, the pain of watching her strength diminish day by day was still as keen.

“And in one of those conversations, was there no mention of marriage?”

“Of course there was. Mama was sad that she would not be at my wedding. Perhaps she said she wished she could meet my future wife. I cannot remember everything we said. Perhaps I once told her that a marriage to Anne was not out of the question, but I was eighteen and wanted to give Mama some peace of mind. I am certain, however, that I never made her such a solemn promise. I gave no consent. Lady Catherine has imagined it—”

“Would she make such a false declaration?” Arthur asked, puzzled.

“Do you believe my mother wanted me to marry Anne de Bourgh?” Darcy asked, confused by the wording of the codicil but certain of his own recollections and his mother’s wish that he should find true happiness in marriage.

“It is complicated, I must admit,” the colonel replied. “I know Lady Anne wanted your happiness. That is beyond question, and she would never have assumed that you would find it with Anne.”

Darcy nodded, grateful for his uncle’s and cousins’ support, but he remained bewildered.

“My first thought is that this document did not come from my mother,” Darcy said, and his uncle nodded. “As you said, I cannot imagine her making such a demand. Our conversations about my future concerned my living as I thought best. I remember her regret that she would never be a mother-in-law or a grandmother. If she had intended me to marry Cousin Anne, she would have spoken differently, since she would at least have known my future wife, her own niece.”

“Lady Anne never interfered in such a manner,” the colonel affirmed. He and his brother had spent many holidays at Pemberley and had known Lady Anne well.

Darcy nodded. “Mama was proud of my independence, always encouraging me to choose my own course and make my own decisions. Perhaps a little too proud,” he remarked with a slight smile. “This document contradicts her views. I do not believe Lady Catherine can force me to marry her daughter by producing it.”

A long silence followed his words, each remembering the lively, passionate Lady Anne, who had brought so much joy to those around her.

“What would such a document mean in the eyes of the Church and the law?” Arthur asked.

“The Church does not forbid marriage between first cousins. Such unions are often arranged to preserve family alliances, wealth or other interests,” Lord Matlock explained. “This document cannot legally compel Darcy to marry. It is a matter of honour, and Lady Catherine knows exactly what she is asking and why she may succeed.”

“Although parents may arrange such an alliance,” he continued, “no court can order you to marry Anne on the strength of this paper. Catherine means to hold you to a promise supposedly made to your mother and recorded by her.”

“Never!” Darcy cried.

“Are you certain you did not consent in your grief at her condition? We had all seen her death approaching for several months.”