Page 56 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
He had nearly resigned himself to spending the rest of the afternoon drumming his fingers against the cover of a book he could not comfortably sit to read when the door swung open again, this time slowly.
He stiffened slightly, turning his head as best he could without aggravating the ache in his back. The answering pain was far less than it had been only a few days ago.
Darcy blinked as he recognized the figure who had come into his chamber. “Anne?”
She closed the door behind her with the composure of a woman who had long since abandoned the need for ceremony. “I have come to correct our cousin’s latest disaster.”
Darcy sighed. “The conundrum, you mean?”
Anne inclined her head in the smallest of nods, her hands folded before her. “Miss Elizabeth’s riddle was not about oblivion.”
Darcy let out a slow, long-suffering breath. “Of course it was not.”
“She was rather amused by your answer,” Anne added, in a tone that was clearly meant to soothe but entirely failed in doing so.
At least one of them had enjoyed it. Darcy shut his eyes briefly. “Good.”
Anne moved to the chair beside his bed and lowered herself with precise economy, her back as straight as a ruler, her expression as calm as ever. “Would you like the true conundrum?”
Darcy nodded as best he could. “I would.”
She recited it with perfect clarity, her voice measured, unhurried—as if allowing him every opportunity to appreciate just how egregiously Fitz had failed him.
“The beginning of eternity, the end of time and of space, the beginning of every end, and the end of every place.”
Darcy stilled, his mind shifting through the structure of the words. And then, almost immediately, the answer came. A slow smile curved at the corner of his lips. “E.”
Anne gave a single satisfied nod. “That is correct. I will inform Miss Elizabeth that you only required the correct riddle.”
Darcy huffed. “At least she will know I have some capacity for reason.”
Anne paused, her expression unreadable. Then, with resignation, she asked, “I assume you wish to send one in return?”
Darcy tilted his head slightly, considering her. “Do you object to being the messenger?”
Anne sighed, her hands falling deliberately to her sides. “This is the last one I shall carry for you two—at least today.” She frowned slightly. “No offence to you, cousin, but we could never be married. The way you and Miss Elizabeth sport with one another is absolutely exhausting.”
Darcy chuckled, despite himself. “I rather like it.”
“I know.” Anne regarded him with quiet patience, waiting.
Darcy considered. He could send Elizabeth a challenge—something to test her cleverness, something intricate and demanding. But he did not wish to merely test her.
Instead, he wanted to send a message. But it could not be too bold. He did not want to frighten her away.
A conundrum stirred in his memory. He turned his head toward Anne. “It is rather long. You may want to write it down.”
She sighed. “Very well.”
He waited until she sat at the little writing table and then began.
Three sixths of an instrument known,
Which gentlemen frequently play;
Two thirds of a fish with a spine
That extends from the head a great way.
