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Darcy cast any semblance of formality aside. “Anne, you should not have come. Where is Lady Catherine? Did you travel without her?”

“I believe it is your mistress who should not be here,” she accused at the top of her voice.

Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth wanted Ben to bear witness to Anne’s unseemly behaviour. Taking her son by the hand, Elizabeth excused herself and ushered Ben to his room. Georgiana, who by then had joined them, took the opportunity to accompany Elizabeth and Ben.

“Disparage my intended again, and I shall demand you leave my home,” Darcy spoke harshly.

“Nonsense! How can you speak such foolishness? Have I released you from our engagement?”

“I was never yours to release, Anne.”

“It is well established that our engagement has been of a peculiar nature. We are bound by honour, by blood. We are family. It was our mothers’ greatest wish we should be married.”

“It has never been my intention to honour our mothers’ wishes. In truth, I have always hoped to marry the woman I loved. Finally, I have found what I have been searching for all these years. Can you not understand, Anne? I love her! She and her son mean everything to me. They are my family. I would never settle for you when I might have the woman I love.”

“What about me?” Anne begged. “I love you, too. I have loved you the longest!”

Darcy looked at his cousin in exasperation. “Do not be absurd, Anne. You do not love me.”

“In our world, what is love when there is mutual consideration and respect? Furthermore, I need you.”

“I need her!”

“What about the promises you made? Have you no feelings at all for me? No honour?”

“What has honour to do with this? I made you no promise!” Darcy ran his fingers through his hair whilst he contemplated his next words. He glared at her. “I do indeed have intense feelings for you, Anne. However, not the feelings you would wish. For I no longer care for you, even as a cousin. You have taught me to loathe you. I detest you! Moreover, I pity you for coming as far as you did only to make a fool of yourself!”

It pained him to utter such words to his own flesh and blood. It seemed the only way to get through to her—to wound her so critically she might then despise him. At least he would be free of her. Darcy turned to walk away, a clear signal the conversation had ended.

Anne had other ideas. Deranged, infuriated, and confused, she did not intend to broker disappointment. He was hers! He would regret speaking to her as barbarously as he had, in such denigrating terms of disparagement.

As if floating along on a dense cloud of rage, all sense of reason escaped her as she followed him down the corridor. He had dared to utter those words to her—that he loved another woman, needed another woman. She would be damned if she allowed him to walk away from her.

The pain and disappointment of the past years overtook her. It had not been all for naught. Had she even been capable of admitting the truth to herself, she would have confessed she never truly wanted him at all, until at some point in time, all she wanted was him. Suddenly, there was no turning back from the path she had set upon.

Possessing a strength she did not even know she had, she caught up with him at the top of the stairs. Trying desperately to halt his descent, to force him to hear what she had to say that she might persuade him to see things her way, she grasped at him just as he halted of his own volition. A split second too late and taken quite by surprise, Darcy tried but could not grab hold of her.

Anne grappled at anything that would break her fall, but alas, there was nothing. She tumbled. Mindless of nothing other than the pain she endured, soon enough her contorted body rested at the foot of the stairs on the hard, cold ebony and ivory marbled landing. Then darkness.