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She could see now how lonely Anne must be, living with her mother and companion in the great house with only servants and her mother’s guests—who had but little interest in her mother’s daughter—for company.
She wondered if, in the absence of siblings, Anne had known any other children growing up?
As though reading her mind Anne said, “The only other child I knew growing up was Fitzwilliam Darcy. He would spend part of the summer with us.
“Oh, I knew the servants’ children of course, but they were always so careful and so circumspect with me. They would not play with me, or confide in me.”
“So you were close with Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked. This surprised her for she could not recall seeing the two speak to one another.
“Yes, he was my only friend really,” Anne said. “Apart from Kitty, he still is.”
Elizabeth must have shown her surprise at this, for Anne continued, “I never speak to him in front of Mother. I must keep her thinking that we are at odds, you see, for she has plans for us and if she knew we were friends she would press us even harder.”
Elizabeth knew that Lady Catherine considered her daughter engaged to Mr. Darcy, even though the gentleman did not seem to consider the engagement binding as it had not stopped him from proposing to her.
“Do you wish . . .?”
“To marry Mr. Darcy?” Anne completed Elizabeth’s question. “No. I do not.
“I’ll admit that there was a time, a long time actually, when I took it for granted that I would marry Fitzwilliam, and I was content with that. But not now. I do not hope, Miss Bennet, to marry a man who loves me. But I will not marry a man who loves another.”
Anne said this so forcefully that Elizabeth was too surprised to ask who it was that Mr. Darcy loved. Instead, she said, “But surely you would prefer to marry for love?”
Anne sighed. “I may love the man I marry, but I do not hope that he will return my love. I am, I know, without those charms which work to secure a man’s affections.”
“Lord Northover seems to have affection for you,” Elizabeth said. “I would not call his attitude toward you indifferent.”
“So you know. Yes, I’m in love with him,” Anne said. “But he is only fond of me, no more than that.”
“Perhaps he feels more than you perceive?” Elizabeth asked.
“If anything, he feels less,” Anne said. “He sees me as agreeable, and undemanding. And rich.”
Elizabeth began to protest, but Lady Anne raised her hand. “I am content with that, with his fondness. It’s more than I had the right to expect, and all that I need.”
Elizabeth had noticed how attentive Lord Northover was to Anne, and how much she seemed to reciprocate. She had guessed that there was something between them.
“But you, Miss Bennet, may be able to marry for love,” Anne continued.” For there is one who loves you very much indeed.”
Elizabeth was about to say something light, but there was something serious about Anne’s expression that made her pause. She was forced to wonder to whom Anne could be referring.
“I’m sure I do not know who you mean,” Elizabeth said finally, when it seemed that Anne was waiting for her to indicate her interest.
Lady Anne looked at her for a moment, and then looked back into the fire. “Fitzwilliam,” she said softly. “Fitzwilliam loves you very much.”
Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy loved her very much?
It did not surprise Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy should have some feelings towards her, as, after all, he had proposed to her. But that had been some time ago, and she had turned him down. Moreover, his behavior towards her—his attitude since his arrival at Rosings Park, the superiority he demonstrated which indicated that he had not mended his ways in the slightest—all pointed to the fact that he had gotten over her and then some. If anything, Elizabeth would’ve said that he no longer had feelings towards her even as her feelings towards him had, she had to admit, grown.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Anne said. “But I can tell that you do not believe me.”
“I think,” Elizabeth began, “that he did have feelings for me once . . .”
“I know that he proposed to you and that you turned him down. He blamed himself for this, not you. He wished to explain himself. That is why he wrote the letter, and why I got the letter to you.”
“He asked you to give me his letter?” Elizabeth was not shocked by this, though it did surprise her.
“No. I stole the letter from him—he always kept it on his person against the day when he would have a good chance to deliver it to you himself again—and I had Giselle place it in your room. I hope you can forgive me.”
