Anne's Soliloquy
Posted on Tuesday, 6 July 2004
Pushing the plate of food away and frowning at the dour expression on Mrs. Jenkinson’s face, Anne’s sigh told all.
I am so tired.
“Perhaps you should go to your room and rest, dear Miss DeBourgh.”
“Yes,” Anne agreed passively, rising from the chair and moving with slow deliberate steps toward the entryway to the main staircase.
It seems that all I do is rest and feel tired. How I wish I had the health to go about the grounds as Miss Bennet.
Shaking her head, Anne was disgusted with her jealousy of someone she hardly knew, one who without a care in the world traipsed about the grounds of Rosings as though it were hers to command.
If I had ever learned, I would be a true proficient-
Anne shook her head and refused to finish the thought that was decidedly not her own. She had heard her mother say such so many times now and many other phrases that in truth she did not even know her own mind anymore. She entered her room and draped herself across her satin covered bed.
My life has all been planned out since just after my birth, and without any consideration of mine in the decision making.
She sighed at her mother’s audacity to presume that William would marry her.
Mother has been making that assumption for as long as I can remember, but I wonder if either William or I have truly ever considered it our destiny.
When the Hunsford party was at supper each time, Anne sat quietly beside Mrs. Jenkinson, ignoring her as best she could. Rather she noticed how William gazed at Miss Bennet, his eyes boring into her as to look into her very soul. She saw how his jaw tightened when cousin Richard attracted Miss Bennet’s attentions, made her laugh, and play the pianoforte seemingly only for him.
William has never looked at me in that manner, never in all our acquaintance.
Her face rested on the pillow of her bed, her eyes tearing as she suddenly came to the realization for all his looks.
He is in love with her, but she reacts as though her heart is untouched, unaware of his love.
She punched the pillow as hard as her feeble fist could muster and then threw it a few feet from the bed, disgusted with her veiled attempt to control her sobs.
How can he love a total stranger who does not return it and not one he has known all his life?
She rose and stood before the mirror and gazed at her reflection with disdain. Her skin was as pale as Miss Bennet’s, but her own pallor was sickly. Dark circles under her eyes were reminiscent of that of one ghostly, almost dead creature. Her hair had no shine and her curls hung limply about her face. Her eyes were dull, her figure as small and thin as that of a child instead of grown woman of almost five and twenty.
By comparison how could he not but love someone so alive and in good health? You are but a stick, Anne Louise DeBourgh, who seems more like a spirit used for haunting a house than to abide in one.
She turned away from the mirror and walked toward the window, and with movements that were studied and slow she gently cast aside the curtain to gaze at the wonderful grounds of Rosings below, remembering Miss Bennet’s admission to Richard of running through the park for the exhilaration of it.
Running, I wonder what that feels like, to have the wind in my hair and on my face. How I would love to be able to run! I would run until I had no breath left. What a joy that would be.
And just thinking of such an activity brought a blush to Anne’s cheek, and breathlessness to her lungs. She found she needed to sit in order to recover, having been so unused to ever having such thoughts brought on fatigue. She sat in the chair closest to the window, and took slow deep breaths until her countenance returned.
Dabbing her handkerchief on her still flushed cheeks Anne envisioned walking about the paths of Rosings as companion to Miss Bennet, talking of anything that came to mind.
Oh, but what could I think to speak of that would be of interest to her? It seems her life is so different from my own.
Anne remembered Miss Bennet told of a love of reading, but surely she would not have similar habits of mine and William’s love of poetry and the classics. Her gaze took her eyes to the night table along side her bed where a much read edition of John Donne lay.
No, that would be too much to hope.
Anne realized that most likely Miss Bennet was referring to the reading of novels as Richard accused of so many young ladies. She shook her head, unsatisfied with this view of the young woman.
William would not be attracted to someone so shallow as Richard describes.
Anne smiled as she recalled the last occurrence when the Hunsford party attended, and at previous times when they had been invited.
Truly Miss Bennet often responds to mother’s questions with no falseness in her or timidity, but rather with an intelligence and knowledge of one with integrity and sincerity without artifice.
Anne could admit to herself an admiration of Elizabeth for her mettle to withstand such a dynamic personality as her mother and to do so with such ease and grace. It was something Anne had yet been able to dwell on attempting for long without causing her heart to race and her breath to quicken.
Oh, that I could defy mother just once, even if it were something…trivial.
Just then a soft knock upon her chamber door beckoned her.
“Yes, who is it?”
“It is William, Anne.”
“Come in, William.”
Darcy did as she bid, and came into the room to stand along side her chair with a look of concern on his face.
“Are you unwell? You seemed quiet at luncheon.”
“I am always quiet, William,” she teased her cousin, smiling but with an accompanying cough.
He smiled back and replied, “Yes, you are, but you were more so this afternoon.”
“William, if I never talk, and did not do so at luncheon, how can you say I acted any different?”
“I noted you not attending the conversation throughout the entire meal. You usually at least listen to Richard’s nonsense.”
Anne giggled nodding. “I find him amusing most times which is usually his purpose in regaling us with anecdotes of his life in ton.”
“Quite.”
Anne sighed at his kindness toward her, knowing it to be more the devotion of an elder brother instead of would-be suitor and had always been so, and she now accepted his attentions as such.
“I am well enough, William, but I have been pondering on a thought that I wish now for you to either confirm or deny.”
“If I can, Anne, what is it you wish to know?”
“It is regarding Miss Bennet.”
Darcy’s mask was well in place so as not to give away any of his emotions, and he remained silent, awaiting what Anne would ask of him.
“She spoke of a love of reading, and I wondered if as Richard implied that she was a lover of novels or if perhaps Miss Bennet cared for more…in-depth works?”
She stared at her cousin as Darcy let out his breath, and for but a fraction of seconds an unguarded softness appeared in his features and his demeanor relaxed in his own thoughts. Suddenly she knew he was not gazing at her, but rather someone entirely different. His eyes blinked and he was again staring back at her and finally replied.
“Miss Bennet's father has an extensive library that she has availed herself of for most of her life. She told me of her fondness for many of Shakespeare’s plays, and several of the others you and I would consider the classics such as Ovid, Aristotle and Plato. She and I have had discussions of some essays by Bacon, and of Blake, and I heard her once say her favorite was Cowper, but that she also enjoys much of-”
“Donne.”
Darcy softly laughed and nodded. “Yes, she has your taste in that respect.”
“I am glad of it, and also that I am correct in my assessment of her intelligence.”
“You and she could have lively debates as to the wisdom of Coleridge and Wordsworth, Anne.”
“Yes,” she replied softly noting his dreamy expression when he spoke of her.
“William, I would ask something else of you.”
She saw him stiffen, almost fearful of her next question that he would not wish to answer at present. His eyes conveyed a sudden sadness before he closed them.
“Yes?”
No, you need not ask that question of him of which you already know the answer.
She smiled and whispered instead, “would you…take me for a walk in the gardens?”
A relieved but confused expression crossed Darcy’s face as this was a request she so seldom asked of him. He wondered of her thoughts to undertake such an activity of which she was not capable. She continued her request of him.
“I want to be outside to feel the sun upon my face, even I can only take a bare fraction of steps, William. It is what I desire most at this moment…without asking permission. Please, William.”
Darcy smiled and nodded.
“Of course, Anne.”
She raised her hands which Darcy took and gently aided her from the chair. Then holding her frail hand in his massive one, he threaded her arm through his and together they slowly walked down the stairs and into the golden afternoon sun and about the wonders of the gardens of Rosings.