Chapter Three

SUNLIGHT POURED THROUGH a dusty window at the top of the landing allowing Charlotte Collins a moment to check her disposition in the looking glass at the top of the servant’s staircase before entering Anne de Bourgh’s sick room. Her normally invigorating afternoon walk to Rosings was ruined by her husband’s insistence on attending her, claiming concern over her earlier fatigue. She would have to remember to curtail her fibs when it came to her stamina in the middle of the day, though sidestepping Mr. Collins’ regular attentions couldn’t last.

With a cheery smile and her fake reading material in hand, Charlotte inhaled through her nose and stepped inside.

“Charlotte, you are early.” The excitement in Anne’s voice couldn’t be mistaken, though it barely rose above a hoarse whisper.

“Shhh…no need to wear yourself out, Anne. My husband insisted upon walking with me, completely removing the time where I usually stroll your lovely gardens and park before attending to you …” Charlotte gave her friend an impertinent laugh, knowing Anne loved to hear about Charlotte’s walks. In some ways, walking the gardens of Rosings reminded Charlotte of her life when it was more carefree in Hertfordshire, tromping after her friend, Elizabeth Bennet, in woods, streams, and fields.

Darcy appeared outside of his cousin’s room moments later, shocked at the familiarity he heard between Anne and one that was unfamiliar, yet still comforting in an odd way. This shock kept him eavesdropping, as he stood rooted to the very floor and couldn’t have performed a different action if he had tried.

“Did you harvest …” A fit of coughing prevented Anne’s thought from completion. Charlotte quickly poured a glass of water for the lady to drink. As Anne lay back to rest from her coughing fit, Charlotte absently raked her fingers through the woman’s thinning hair, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Yes, the new crop finally came in and I expect to have more than enough for my plans.”

“I’m so sorry you are unhappy. I cannot imagine my father forcing me to marry such a man.”

Charlotte frowned for a moment, remembering the lack of aid her father gave in avoiding Mr. Collins’ particular attention. Of course, Mr. Collins, due to inherit the Bennet home in Hertfordshire called Longbourn, was originally set to marry one of his cousins, and Charlotte’s best friend. But Elizabeth Bennet had scorned Collins’ proposal, and she had even warned Charlotte he was not a nice man. The chance of leaving her family home as a successful married woman, with a future of returning to her neighborhood on one distant day, had caused Charlotte to throw caution to the wind. She always thought happiness in marriage was a matter of chance, she just never thought herself to be so unlucky.

“It was not so much a forced marriage as the only offer ever made.” Charlotte winced at the embarrassment of such a confession. “Perhaps marriages of convenience are less a savings and more a waste than we thought! Now, shall we get back to Lady Helena and her dastardly Uncle seeking to steal her inheritance?” Both ladies laughed at the irony of their situations as Charlotte pulled the contraband novel from the hiding space below Anne’s bed.

The novelty of Anne’s laugh startled Darcy back to the present. He entered the room and the young woman playing companion to his sickly wife halted him in his tracks. He remembered now; it was that odious parson’s wife, the one who had taken the place of his dear Elizabeth at the altar. He pretended not to see Charlotte drop the book and slide it under the bed with a nudge of her slipper.

“Fitzwilliam!” Anne’s gasp brought on another fit of coughs, and Charlotte and Darcy reached for the glass of water at the same time, spilling the clear liquid down the lace runner over the nightstand and into a wet puddle on the pale green rug.

“Blast!”

Anne’s coughing continued.

“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte scrambled to right the glass, pour more water and hand it to Anne who was now gulping her breaths between coughs.

“Ssh. Slowly, Anne. Don’t fret, you will only feel worse.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at a complete loss. Anne’s hair hung limply around her shoulders, her complexion the normal pale white he’d always seen. But the rattle in her cough and bluish tinge of her fingertips convinced him. The young girl he had chased and teased as a boy was slipping away from this world.

“Forgive me, I must write a letter. It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Collins.” Darcy bowed to the two women and strode confidently out of the suite, into the hall, and back towards his bedchamber, nearly knocking a squattish man, in possession of far too much forehead, to the ground.

Immediately, the man bowed in a deep bend, taking full responsibility for the offense.

“Mr. Darcy, may I say how pleased we are to hear of your return. It is a most celebrated event.”

The gall of this man struck Darcy dumb. “I should hope my summons to Rosings is not an event to celebrate. My cousin is on her death bed.”

“No, I mean to say, that is, it is most celebrated that you should return to Rosings, to wed, and as your presence brings an air of prestige that no other…”

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted nothing more than to return to his chamber and pen the missive he must to his other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, hoping he could finally get away. Finally, the portly man’s stuttering ended and Darcy realized he was waiting for his response. On what, he could not say as he had quit listening at “prestige.”

“Certainly. Is there business I can help you with, Mr… .” Darcy purposely trailed off, not wishing to utter even the man’s name. How this bumbling fool could have ever thought himself elevated enough for the likes of his Elizabeth, he did not know. But it was arrogance, and Darcy despised arrogance where no true superiority of the mind existed.

“Collins sir. Reverend Collins, at your most humble service, Mr. Darcy.”

If this weren’t indeed a grave situation, Darcy would think himself trapped in a play of comedy not of his own making. His cousin was dying, her mother couldn’t be bothered, he might have no choice but to marry her to save the estate and risk losing his Elizabeth forever, and this pompous weasel was bowing to him. Again.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins.” Darcy gave a pert nod of dismissal and tried to sidestep the man, to no avail.

“Mr. Darcy, might I offer my pastoral services in this extreme time of grief? I have served her Ladyship for a number of years now and in her great wisdom, she has encouraged my counseling efforts to be at the ready for any such situation as my flock may require. As parson, I pray most earnestly that you look to our Heavenly Father at this time of loss and rely on Scripture for your answers before hardening your heart.”

“Mr. Collins, my cousin still breathes!” Darcy took back his thought of being caught in a comedy. This was a nightmare. “Good day, sir.”

This time, he physically brushed the sycophant aside. He was not two steps when the man dared to call after him.

“Pardon my intrusion, but perchance you’ve seen my wife, Charlotte, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy wheeled around on the spot and narrowed his eyes at the man. “Your wife?”

Mr. Collins finally felt the disapproval he earned earlier and physically shrank an inch or two in stature under Darcy’s glare. “Yes. Mrs. Collins. She reads sermons to Mrs. Darcy daily.”

Realization struck Darcy immediately, and he did not wish for the kind Charlotte to be caught hiding a novel under a bed. He surmised the reality of Mrs. Collins’ visits to his ailing cousin were unknown and as Darcy held not one ounce of respect for Mr. Collins, he would certainly preserve his cousin’s privacy to her secrets and by proxy, her friend.

“Sermons. Of course. Yes, I did hear your wife reading to my cousin just moments ago. Wait here and I shall inquire.” Darcy once more walked past the man, his nostrils twitching at the overpowering smell of cheap cologne masking a failure to bathe.

“I shall accompany you and be of pastoral assistance.” Mr. Collins took a few steps after Darcy but froze when Mr. Darcy’s much taller stature immediately turned back around to address him.

“You forget yourself, sir; perhaps my cousin is not decent for another man’s visit. Do you make a habit of barging in on the sick rooms of every lady in your district?”

Mr. Collins face flushed to a deep shade of beet red. As he stammered more apologies, Darcy swiftly opened the bedroom door to Anne’s sitting room to gain entrance to her bedchamber. He interrupted a rather rousing reading from Mrs. Collins on the topic of Lady Helena’s near escape from her Uncle’s estate by clearing his throat. Charlotte crimsoned and immediately hid the book behind her back.

“Forgive me, Anne. Mr. Collins is waiting in the hall for his wife.”

Darcy didn’t miss the fleeting look of disgust on Mrs. Collins face before she hastened to the bed to gently clasp Anne’s hand in farewell.

Gently, Darcy pulled the novel from Mrs. Collins hands as it waggled behind her back in front of him. He bowed to Anne and saw Mrs. Collins to the sitting room.

“Mr. Darcy, about the reading material–”

“There’s no need to explain, but after my earlier run-ins with Mr. Collins, perhaps it should remain with me? If it brings Anne a small amount of comfort, I shall offer to continue the story of Lady Helena and her dangerous adventures.”

Charlotte nodded and flashed a brilliant smile. Suddenly, the bloom was gone from her face and she appeared stricken.

“Good day, Mr. Darcy. I’m sorry we met again under such sad circumstances and please tell Miss de Bourgh I shall see her tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I believe my cousin would enjoy your presence.”

Mrs. Collins opened the sitting room door to the hallway to find her husband pacing. She sighed and took his arm as he led her back down the grand staircase.

Darcy shook his head and returned to Anne’s bedchamber, seizing the same chair previously occupied by Charlotte. He opened the book and began to read, watching with contentment as Anne smiled and relaxed against her pillows. In a few minutes, her breathing regulated, though it was very shallow for his tastes. He gently kissed her hand to take his leave and resolved not to let anything or anyone get in the way of the letter he must write. He could not handle this alone.