Page 104 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

James protested that he was attempting to prevent a serious mistake. Darcy told him that he could make his objections in writing, and that he would now leave.

I sat shaking in every limb until the door had closed. Then Richard knelt beside my chair, rather awkwardly because of his leg, and asked me to look at him.

That was when I began to cry.

“He cannot simply bring her here,” Richard said. “Anne, listen to me. The people looking after her have their instructions.”

“He knows where she is,” I choked out through a throat almost too tight for words.

“I shall write to my father immediately. I shall recommend that she be removed somewhere James knows nothing about.”

I wanted to ask whether his father would agree, but could not manage it. Richard gave me his handkerchief and remained beside me while Darcy went to ensure James’ carriage had been brought around and he was leaving the house directly.

I was ashamed that I could not stop crying, even after we heard the carriage drive away.

Richard did not reproach me for my tears, nor ask me to stop. He only stayed until I could, and then he took my hand and led me all the way upstairs to my room, summoning my maid and telling her that I was overset and should be brought tea.

I did not want tea, I wanted Richard to keep holding my hand. The moment he let go the sick, shaky feeling welled up in me again, and I collapsed on my bed.

1 December

I have refused two invitations and pleaded the weather, though it has been no worse than on several occasions when I have gone out quite willingly.

I do not wish to encounter James.

He is unlikely to start berating me in public. I know that perfectly well, just as I know that Lady Catherine is in Scotland, and could not have reached us by now even if somebody had sent an express to summon her the moment James left.

Knowing these things has been of very little assistance.

Yesterday a carriage stopped outside while I was looking from the window, and for a dreadful moment I thought Lady Catherine might step down from it. It belonged to a lady calling at the next house. I was so relieved that I had to sit down.

Elizabeth has been glad of my company. She is keeping mostly to her rooms now but even there finds it difficult to be comfortable for very long, and I can fetch things for her, or read when she does not feel inclined to talk. I should much rather sit beside her than go anywhere else.

Darcy told me that he had not repeated James’s threat to her. She knows about his earlier attempt to make me write to Lady Catherine, of course, but there is no reason to give her something fresh to worry over. I heard his unspoken request not to tell Elizabeth anything of my troubles at this time, and I will abide by it. I have tried to be cheerful, but I do not think I have succeeded particularly well.

This afternoon Lizzy put down the tiny nightgown she was hemming and asked me something I had hoped she never would.

“Anne, I have been wondering something and I hope you do not mind my asking. Did you refuse Mr Byerly because you still hope that Richard may offer for you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I refused him because I do not think he could make me happy. And I do not believe I could make him happy either.” I looked down at the book I had been reading aloud while she sewed. “I should have refused him even if Richard were married to somebody else.”

It hurt to say it, but I knew it was true. I had done what I promised Richard I would: I had given Mr Byerly a chance, and I had eventually come to the conclusion that he and I wanted futures that were incompatible. I have no regrets about my conduct, or my choices, even if it means I will never receive another offer from anyone.

Lizzy reached for my hand and held it for a little while. Afterwards she asked whether I would read another chapter, and I was very grateful that she did not ask anything more.

5 December

Richard stopped me on my way upstairs this morning. A note had come from his father, and he wished me to read it.

It was very short. Lord Matlock wrote that he thought he had best come to London and resolve the matter in person. He did not like his sons to be at odds, and expected to arrive within the next few days.

I read it twice, looking for answers to questions that were not contained within the few brief lines.

“Has James written to him too?” I asked.

“I do not know,” Richard said. “And I do not much care. My father will hear what happened from us.”

The letter said nothing about Lady Catherine being moved. I wished very much that it had.