Her ladyship scoffed. Taking a nearby seat, she said, “If you have learned nothing else in the wake of your unfortunate accident, no doubt it is to appreciate your own mortality.”

  “I do not dare argue your point, Lady Catherine. Life is fragile indeed. Tomorrow is not promised to any of us.”

  She nodded knowingly. “There is all the more reason for you to cease your abominable procrastination where my Anne is concerned. The sooner the two of you are married, the sooner you can beget an heir to all of this. You know it was the favorite wish of your mother and me that the two of you are to be wed.”

  “I know it very well. It is not as though Anne and I are not betrothed, albeit in a peculiar sort of way. I am more than ready to make it official, especially in light of recent events.”

  Here, he spoke of nothing but the truth. Not that he recalled hearing the speech about being destined at birth for Anne from his beloved parents, but he had certainly heard it enough from his aunt. Indeed, such was her ladyship’s favorite refrain.

  Lady Catherine’s countenance took a satisfied turn, and their conversation culminated with a determined citing that she would speak to her daughter at once to set all the pertinent matters in motion.

  Before standing in preparation to quit the room, she looked at her nephew pointedly. “I daresay you ought to show more enthusiasm, Nephew, now that you have determined to do what everyone has long expected of you. You certainly took long enough.”

  How remarkable, Lady Catherine thought, that the accident had imparted some sense to her nephew. What a stroke of luck indeed! Good fortune cloaked in misfortune’s clothing was the only way she could think of it.

  Lady Catherine was looking out the window, admiring her favorite garden, when she espied her daughter walking arm in arm with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Such a sight was met with a mixture of wonderment and, indeed, a measure of delight. Owing to her health, Anne did not make friends easily. Aside from Mrs. Collins and Anne’s companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, she hardly ever engaged with anyone beyond her family circle. It surprised her to that day that Anne had gone as far as to invite the Collinses’ guest to stay at Rosings as her own guest, but Anne rarely asked for anything. She was so agreeable, so amendable, so gentle that Lady Catherine never denied her daughter anything she requested.

  As accommodating as her daughter was, Lady Catherine was certain Anne would be just as eager as she was that the one thing that had eluded her for years was now hers for the taking.

  Sitting across from Anne a quarter hour later with talk of special licenses, the grandest wedding breakfast in the land, and the like, her ladyship was more than a little disappointed that her daughter did not share in her glee.

  “Pray, child, what on earth are you about? Your cousin has finally come to his senses and is ready to fulfill our family’s favorite wish and make you his wife. I rather suspected you would be ecstatic! I most certainly am.”

  “No, Mother,” Anne said.

  “No? No? Pray, Anne, what does that mean?”

  “It means, no—I am not ecstatic. It is not as though this is the first I have heard about my cousin’s change in opinion.”

  “What are you saying? How long have you known? Pray, why is this the first I have heard of it?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mother! Do you dare pretend to be unaware of my cousin’s condition?”

  “Save a few scrapes and bruises, there is nothing much the matter with him. The physician has assured me that my nephew is well on his way to a full recovery.”

  “Physically, perhaps. But his suffering extends far beyond what the eyes can see.”

  “Are you referring to his concussion? What of it? The fact that he has forgotten some minor detail of his recent past is a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things!”

  How Anne wanted to tell her mother all that she did not yet know—that forgetting one’s own love interest was hardly a small sacrifice. Instead, she said, “Replacing actual memories with false memories that he and I are betrothed is no trivial matter.”

  “If your cousin thinks the two of you are engaged to be married, where is the harm in that? It is exactly as it is supposed to be and on some level he knows it too, else he would not have taught himself to believe it. I say we seize upon this moment that fate has so generously bestowed—indeed satisfying the hopes and dreams of everyone who is anyone to us.”

  “No, Mother!” Anne stood from her chair. “I shall not and I will not take advantage of my cousin’s ailment in such an egregious manner. Shame on you for thinking, for even a second, that I would. What must you think of me?”

  “I am thinking of what is in your best interest—just as I have always done. I cannot be expected to live forever. I am depending on Darcy to marry you. Do anything but allow me to depart this earth, leaving you alone in the world.”

  “If my marrying someone in order that I might not be alone in this world is your primary goal, then you shall be happy to know that I have no intention of remaining unmarried.” Steeling herself, she added, “I have my own hopes and dreams for my future, Mother, and they will not be defined by you or anyone else. I will not marry my cousin, at least not the cousin you have in mind!” Anne gasped, having no desire to inform her mother of her tacit engagement to the colonel—not in that manner, and certainly not at that time.

  Lady Catherine scoffed. “I cannot begin to imagine what you mean by such a cryptic remark! And I will not waste my time trying to decipher it. The favorite wish of so many is about to come true. Your cousin Darcy and I are of one mind on this. The two of you will be married, and that is final.”

  Nine

  Poor Anne! Her heart raced and her breath came in shallow gasps as she stumbled into the alcove, her vision blurred by unshed tears. The soft scent of the garden barely registered as she accepted the colonel’s warm embrace, his strong arms instantly wrapping around her trembling body.

  “Oh! Richard, my love,” Anne cried, resting her head against his broad chest. “I just had a most unpleasant encounter with my mother.”

  “What has happened?”

  Surrendering his arms, she said, “It has to do with our cousin. Richard, she knows! My mother knows that Cousin Fitzwilliam believes he and I are engaged, and she is insisting that we seize this opportunity to marry.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I declare, I was on the verge of telling her about the two of us—that we are in love ... that we are destined to be together as one. But, fortunately, I stopped myself. Heaven knows where our argument would have led if she knew.”

  “My Dearest Anne, I cannot say that I am disappointed you did not share our hopes and plans for the future with your mother because I want to be by your side when that happens.”

  Anne shrugged. “Except now, I do not know that I have the courage to tell my mother at all. I feel like such a coward in the face of her formidable presence. Truth be told, I have always depended on our cousin to shield myself from being the one to disappoint my mother.”

  Wringing her hands, she continued, “My mother has always had this view of me as being of a sickly constitution—as though she depends upon it to give her own life purpose and meaning. I have done little to dispel the myth.

  “I have every reason to believe once Cousin Fitzwilliam remembers his past, he will be the one to set Mother straight. My greatest fear is we may be running out of time.”

  The colonel agreed. “That is all the more reason I am determined to remain close to our cousin through this ordeal—to prevent him from doing something he does not want to do and later have cause for regret. I am certain Lady Catherine will not abide my presence here in Kent if she suspects I am the reason for thwarting her favorite wish.”

  “As we both know, nothing can be further from the truth. You have always been the object of my heart’s greatest desire, and it is only a matter of time before the entire world knows it,” Anne said.

  The colonel, a man of sense and education and knowledge of the world, had known his fair share of women but none of them—regardless of beauty, wealth, or status, held a candle to his Anne. Having endured years of hearing the ridiculous notion that Anne and Darcy were destined to marry, he knew better.

  For one, he knew his cousin Darcy, who always looked at Anne as though she were a sister. The colonel was the only one whom Anne showed her true self to—not so sickly and meek, but caring, compassionate, and even passionate when it was just the two of them.

  Taking Anne into his arms once more, holding her tightly—close enough to feel her heartbeat—he brushed a kiss against her chin. He spoke tenderly in her ear, “I do not know what I ever did to deserve you.”

  Lady Catherine was incensed by her daughter! When did she become so obstinate—so headstrong? Her ladyship hoped the Bennet girl was not the reason for Anne’s stubbornness. If only my own health had not taken a turn for the worse when my nephew was involved in the riding accident.

  I should never have allowed a friendship between my daughter and someone like Miss Elizabeth Bennet to unfold, what with her family’s low connections rooted in trade, their lack of fortune, one of five young ladies with no formal education to speak of and no governess!

  It was as though Lady Catherine’s role as chief decider of all things at Rosings Park had been usurped!

  This is not to be borne!

  It was bad enough that her ladyship had not been the first to know of her nephew’s riding accident. She was not pleased to have learned about her nephew’s improved health from a servant. But to only now be informed that Darcy had suffered such a dramatic change in heart about his engagement to her Anne. And then to discover that Anne knew all along and had chosen not to confide in her.

  She began to wonder what else was being kept from her and thus resolved to find out all she did not yet know once and for all, starting with summoning Darcy’s physician, Dr. Hamilton, for a private audience.

  Upon sitting with the gentleman and listening to his current assessment of her nephew’s ongoing recovery, her immediate thought of spiriting the young couple off to meet the archbishop in order to obtain a special license slowly faded away.

  Lady Catherine appreciated the physician’s prognosis that the situation with Darcy’s memory might correct itself in time—be it hours, days, weeks, months, or even years. The one thing preventing her from taking matters into her own hands on a swifter basis was the young man’s physical health. He was in no condition to travel, according to his physician. His body needed time to heal from its injuries and even a trip to London by carriage in a luxury barouche was not deemed wise.

  “When do you think it will be safe for me to carry out my plan to have my nephew and my daughter married?” Lady Catherine demanded.

  As Hamilton was Mr. Darcy’s personal physician from London to whom her ladyship was speaking, the gentleman was not as easily cowered as a local physician from the neighboring village might have been. It was easy enough for him to appease her ladyship or rather ignore her and go on with attending affairs in the manner he believed most appropriate. In addition, he had the colonel acting as his defense, shielding him from Lady Catherine’s officious manner while he went on about the business of caring for his patient.

  By then, Colonel Fitzwilliam had explained all the nuances of Mr. Darcy’s predicament to Dr. Hamilton, making it clear to the other man that Mr. Darcy was indeed confused in thinking that he was engaged to marry his cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh. Indeed, the colonel gave the strongest hints of an attachment between his cousin Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet despite the former claiming to have no recognition of the latter.

  The physician would not speculate on why Mr. Darcy’s mind had blocked out the part of his past involving Miss Bennet. He owned that the onset of trauma-induced amnesia was a difficult matter to pin down. Indeed, he posited it might have its roots in something completely unrelated to his relationship with Miss Bennet, but whatever it was, it was something too difficult for his mind to comprehend, and thus his mind had elected to avoid dealing with it altogether.

  While her ladyship was by now privy to the fact that Darcy had no memory of having met Miss Bennet, she surely did not suppose it was cause for concern. What difference did it make that her nephew had no recollection of having met someone so far beneath him in consequence as to be laughable? Was that not exactly the way it was meant to be for people of their ilk?

  On the other hand, selective amnesia in and of itself was indeed a cause for concern, especially as it pertained to her daughter’s future felicity as well as her own.

  “It is one thing to block out memories of certain events or people from one’s past,” Lady Catherine began, “but why would one’s mind fabricate things that have yet to come to pass? Which, in this case, is my nephew’s stance on his engagement to my daughter, Anne. That ought to tell you something, should it not?”

  “Indeed, it should, but it is an answer buried deep in the farthest recesses of Mr. Darcy’s mind. Only he holds the key.”

  Her ladyship shrugged. “Well, I say it has everything to do with the fact that, deep within his mind, my nephew knows exactly what is expected of him, and this is providence’s way of reminding him what he is truly about.

  “And it is for that reason that I insist we seize this opportunity while we have the chance. The answer to one’s most ardent prayers does not always come in the manner in which we expect it. This I have always said. I know better than to question a blessing when I see one.”

  Ten

  That particular day, Darcy ventured to the temple, a stately structure with towering columns and stone walls, nestled in the peaceful woodlands a short distance from Rosings Park. He doubted he might see Miss Bennet even if he wished it. It was just as well. He needed time to sort out his feelings—a feat better accomplished in solitude. He could conceive of no more fitting place than that very spot. Looking all about, part of him wondered if Miss Bennet had ever come across the place, for he was sure she would love it.

  Thoughts of Miss Bennet were always uppermost in his mind of late. Perhaps it was a consequence of their spending so much time together during the past weeks. He was beginning to think his cousins were conspiring to throw Miss Bennet in his path and always making excuses to leave them to their own devices. Darcy’s resistance to her gave way to admiration with each encounter and he was now looking forward to her company.

  He was mindful of his commitment to Anne, but it was not as though she showed any enthusiasm over the prospect of sharing her life with him. He scoffed. A peculiar engagement indeed.

  More than once, he wondered at the possibility of changing his mind. No formal announcement had been made. He doubted he would meet with any opposition from Anne, who seemed far more intimate with the colonel than with Darcy. Lady Catherine, however—he would rather not think about that. Not at that moment.

  A booming thunder roared across the sky, and his muscles tensed. By the sound of it, a fierce storm would soon follow. Mere moments later, the rain poured from the sky in buckets. How fortuitous that he was sheltered from it all. His thoughts tended toward Miss Bennet, and he hoped she was not out and about on one of her solitary rambles amid such a raging storm. As though thinking of her had the power of summoning her presence, she suddenly appeared before him. Soaking wet from head to toe. Her bonnet and spencer were no match for nature’s fury.

  Judging by her reaction to seeing him, he could not tell if she was merely surprised or terribly embarrassed, perhaps a mixture of both. Hurrying to her side, Darcy removed her bonnet, and he began unfastening the buttons of her soaking wet spencer.

  “Sir, what are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, clutching her garment with both hands.

  “We must get you out of your wet clothing, Miss Bennet. You may use my great coat instead to keep you warm.”

  “I see.” Brushing his hands aside, she continued, “I can do it myself.”

  Darcy immediately surrendered his coat, and he wrapped it around her shoulders once she removed her spencer.

  Elizabeth had tried her best not to give a hint of how his tender ministrations affected her. Until that moment, she had not noticed his rather informal attire—his crisp white cravat draping his neck and the top button of his pristine shirt undone. She tried to ignore the sight of him thusly—the dark hairs on his chest. But it was proving an arduous task, indeed. She watched in awe as he gathered her wet things and then, taking her by the hand, led her to the stone bench he had abandoned upon her sudden arrival.

  “We may as well sit and wait out this deluge together,” Mr. Darcy said, inching closer. How odd that he now found himself so at ease in her company. Upon seeing her when he had awakened after his accident, he had detected nothing extraordinary in her features. Now, thoughts of the beautiful expression in her dark eyes and her light, pleasing figure were his near-constant companions, and he could not help but consider her one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance.

  “I did not know you ever walked here—although I cannot say I am surprised. I was given to think you would naturally be drawn to such a place.”

  Elizabeth trembled a little and she could not say whether it was from the chilly air or his deep, melodious voice. “I am guilty as charged. I love it here, having come across it soon after my arrival in Kent.” Rarely did the two of them speak about her time in that part of the country before his accident. She was certain this was not the time. Instead, she said, “Pray, forgive my intrusion, sir.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Were I to judge by the state of your attire, I would surmise you were here before the storm began.”

  “How fortuitous indeed, for the thought of you being here, soaking wet and shivering in this cold, is untenable.”

  “Instead, you are the one who is suffering from the damp, cold air owing to your chivalry.”

 

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