Page 107 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

“Was he very angry?”

“Exceedingly.” Richard did not appear particularly distressed by the recollection. “He suggested that I had been making a great deal of trouble merely because he had asked for a little assistance.”

I remembered James’s manner when he had ordered Richard to leave Darcy’s house and go to live with him.

“What did your father say?”

“That I was not born to be at my brother’s beck and call.”

Richard paused, and there was something in his expression which made me think those words had pleased him more than all the particulars of his father’s gift.

“Father told James that I had served with distinction and commanded men under circumstances which required rather more judgement than attending a meeting with a man of business. If James expected to snap his fingers and have me come running, he had only demonstrated his lack of comprehension as to my capabilities, and provided my father an excellent reason for putting my independence beyond question.”

I wished I might have heard Lord Matlock say it.

Richard told me that his father had then turned to him and said that this provision ought to have been made long ago. He had allowed himself to suppose that Richard’s future could always be attended to later. He did not say that he had believed James could be trusted to take care of things, and now no longer held that belief, but Richard had heard it all the same, and he rather thought James had too.

“I did not know what to say to that,” Richard admitted.

“Nor should I. But I am very glad he has attended to it now!”

James had not been glad at all. He began to argue again, until Lord Matlock told him that his own future required some attention: it was high time he found a suitable bride, since Matlock requires an heir.

“Lest Richard should have Matlock and everything else as well,” Richard added, in such a good imitation of his father’s voice that I began to laugh.

Apparently James grew very red and left the room.

“I thought it prudent to wait until the door had closed before smiling,” Richard said.

“You are making up for it now.” His joy was contagious; I am sure my own smile spread from ear to ear.

“I intend to enjoy it while I may.”

I could not blame him. I took his hand and told him how happy I was for him, though I do not think I expressed it half so well as I wished.

He held mine for a moment before letting it go.

I have never seen him look so pleased at the prospect of his own future.

12 December

I have heard a great deal about Bramley House today, and it sounds everything delightful. I should very much like to see it.

Richard brought a map into the morning-room to show me where it lies, in the southern part of Leicestershire. Mary and Christopher would be within easy visiting distance, which pleased me particularly. Pemberley would require a longer journey, though Richard said he had often travelled between the two as a boy.

The estate belonged to his grandmother’s family. He remembers staying there when he was young, and being permitted considerably more freedom than he generally enjoyed at home.

“There was a pear tree against the garden wall,” he told me. “I was forbidden to climb it, which naturally made it the only tree I wished to climb.”

“Did you?”

“Frequently; the pears were delicious. Until a branch broke.”

I asked whether he had been hurt.

“Only sufficiently to make it impossible to conceal what I had been doing.”

He showed me where the garden lies behind the house. It is enclosed by an old brick wall, with fruit trees trained against it and roses along the borders. His grandmother had been particularly fond of them, and he remembered her taking him about with a basket while she cut flowers for the house.