by Robin Helm
“Soon?”
“How soon?”
“I loathe the thought of a long engagement. Next week?” he implored.
“You have known me such a short time, My Lord. Would you not rather wait a few months at least?”
“No. I would rather put an announcement of our engagement in the newspaper tomorrow and marry you the next day, but I will wait a month. I really should speak to your father, and I suppose you need time to have a dress made. I think a month is very generous. Do you agree?”
She smiled. “Is this more strategy? Offer what you know is impossible and counter offer what you truly want?”
“You are far too clever for that, my Kitten. I am being open and honest. What I really want is to take you into my arms and kiss you soundly. Then we would wed immediately. However, I will wait six months, if you truly wish it.”
The longing in his voice broke her resolve. “A month will do. We can travel to Longbourn to obtain my father’s blessing as soon as you can arrange it. Bess will travel with us. My mother is with my younger sister right now, but Lydia’s baby shall be born soon, and Mama can come here rather than going to Meryton. She may fuss about our wedding being here instead of in the church near Longbourn, but in the end, she will do what we ask.”
He squeezed her hand. “You have made me extremely happy. I shall talk to Darcy before I leave here tonight. He is your protector while you are in London. Perhaps he and your sister could advise us as to the best time to visit your father, and I can send an express apprising him of our impending visit. We can go to Meryton and return on the same day, I believe. It will be a tiring drive for you, but I shall do my best to make it enjoyable.”
His roguish smile amused her. “I have no doubt of that.”
Miss Bingley hit the final notes of Beethoven’s Pathetique.
“In the space of fifteen minutes, my life has changed forever,” Kitty whispered, discretely withdrawing her hand from his to applaud the performance.
“Mine changed in a moment – when I saw you in that blue gown, descending the stairway like a queen. It hasn’t been the same since that moment. I love you.”
She gazed into his clear, blue eyes. “I love you, too.”
EPILOGUE
“I can't go back to yesterday - because I was a different person then.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
And so it was that a month from the time Katherine Bennet accepted the marriage proposal of the Earl Beaumont, they were wed in Westminster Chapel in London, as Lord Beaumont wished to identify himself with the reform work taking place in that church and community.
They continued to attend there and support the church family throughout their long, happy marriage, often hosting family-oriented events on the lawns of Waterford House, where their six children learned to respect people, no matter their fortune or lack thereof.
Bess moved to Waterford House at Kitty’s request and married the head gardener, thus creating her own family who grew to adulthood on that beautiful estate, learning the value of hard work as well as the great joy to be found in belonging to a large group of people working toward the same goals.
While Lord and Lady Beaumont were active in London Society and political affairs, they never forgot their love for each other, and those tender feelings continuously grew stronger throughout their years of companionship and mutual respect.
She continued to be distracted and redirected by her witty, intelligent husband, and he continued to be fascinated with her strong opinions and refusal to be intimidated by him.
Perhaps they both enjoyed those little games with no losers and two winners.
THE END
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YOU’VE GOT TO KISS THE GIRL
Laura Hile
You’ve Got to Kiss the Girl Copyright © 2020 Laura Hile
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a widow in possession of a large estate often has something to be crabby about. For Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park, this was very much the case today. In a matter of weeks Easter would be here, which meant the presence of her nephews. Would this be the year Darcy announced his engagement to Lady Catherine’s only daughter?
She already knew the answer. For the past decade she had hinted, suggested, nagged, cajoled—even commanded him. But did Darcy propose to Anne? No.
The man was just as stubborn as his father—and Lady Catherine’s late husband and her own father as well. Men, Lady Catherine decided, were too pigheaded for their own good.
“This was your mother’s dying wish,” she told Darcy on more than one occasion. Just because Lady Catherine was not present at her sister’s bedside to hear her say so, did not make it any less true. No one understood the heart of a woman like a sister. “It was a wish expressed in younger days,” she told him, “as together your mother and I sat beside Anne’s cradle.”
“One lives to repent the follies committed in youth,” was Darcy’s response. “No doubt my mother did the same.”
Stupid boy! Although he was no longer a boy; he was a man of twenty-eight. It was high time Darcy was married—to Anne.
Lady Catherine’s troubles were compounded by her rector, Mr. Collins, and his new wife. Why must Mrs. Collins’s guests arrive just now? She ought to have consulted Lady Catherine before inviting her sister and her friend, but she hadn’t.
Never again would such a thing be permitted; Lady Catherine would make certain of that. Oh, Mrs. Collins’s sister was harmless enough. Trouble took the form of the friend, one Elizabeth Bennet.
The thought of her caused Lady Catherine’s fingers to curl into claws. There was no use denying it. Miss Bennet, the daughter of an obscure country gentleman, was a beauty. Moreover, she was conversant enough to be charming. Darcy would not arrive for another fortnight, but Lady Catherine knew what would happen. Darcy—and Colonel Fitzwilliam, too—would be captivated. With such loveliness to distract him, what hope had Anne of securing Darcy’s heart? None at all.
Well.
She would speak to Darcy again about his duty and demand that he take action.
Her nephews’ stated purpose in coming to Rosings Park was to oversee estate business—as though she and her bailiff were incapable. To this end, Lady Catherine’s writing table was covered with files for Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to examine.
One particular file, whose cover was stained with age, caught her eye. Another year gone, and yet her agent had again failed to find a buyer for the moorland house. What had her husband been thinking when he’d taken this property as payment for a debt? And then, instead of including it in the properties willed to Anne, Lewis had left it to her! A stone house on an island in the middle of a lake!
The moor was known for bogs and tors, not lakes. And yet here was this lake, deep and cold, right in the middle of the moor. With a solitary house, empty for years, that no one wished to buy. Lady Catherine pushed the file aside. She would discuss with her nephews the possibility of giving it to the Crown. In this way she would be rid of the expense of maintenance and taxes.
A clock chimed the hour. Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their guests were not coming this evening, a welcome respite. Miss Bennet’s vivacious good health was an unhappy contrast to Anne’s listlessness. If only Anne would exert herself a little, her health would improve!
Speaking of health, the afternoon was fine. What better way to spen
d it than to stroll in the garden? She might as well; she paid an army of men to keep it in splendid form.
But Lady Catherine’s temper did not improve, for on a bench in the rose garden, she discovered an abandoned book. Such slackness! This was what came from permitting guests to have access to the gardens. Rubbishy novels left lying about!
She took up the volume and opened it. The name inscribed on the flyleaf, Clarke’s Subscription Library, meant nothing to her. Nor was the title one she recognised: Fathers’ Frustration: A Neapolitan Tale of Intrigue, Abduction, and Marriage of Convenience.
Naples was located in Italy; Lady Catherine knew that. It would have to be, if an abduction took place. All sorts of ridiculous things happened in Italy. She studied the title with compressed lips. Fathers’ Frustration, was it? She knew the feeling.
Her fingertips ruffled the pages. Since the story was about parents, perhaps she should take a look. She settled herself on the bench and turned to the first page. Skipping over the preface—these were always so dreary—she began to read.
“I cannot understand it, Francesco. She has everything, my daughter: beauty, a fortune, an expansive estate to inherit...”
“And my son, what does he lack? His face rivals a Roman god’s! He possesses not one estate but two! Wealth and intelligence and honour are his. Why does she not accept him?”
“Why does he not propose? For five years we have waited! They know their duty, and yet—nothing! Within a week Letizia attains her majority, and you know what that means. The years of danger.”
“They must marry. An important alliance hangs in the balance. It is up to us, Gaetano. We must do something.”
“But what? How can a father compel his offspring to marry?”
“We have been patient long enough. We must take matters into our own hands.” Behind Francesco’s pointed beard a smile grew. “It is not for nothing that we share the blood of the Borgias, my cousin.”
Gaetano’s eyes widened, and then he too began to smile. “Not for nothing indeed. What did you have in mind?”
Lady Catherine lowered the book; her heart was fluttering in a most unusual way. A sound caught her attention, and she looked up. Was that a bird flying by? Or—could it be the flutter of angels’ wings?
Could this book be heaven-sent?
Nonsense! The Almighty had better things to do than to waste His time with novels.
Even so, it was with reluctance that Lady Catherine closed the book. And later, when she returned to the house, she was careful to conceal it in the folds of her skirt. This was one novel she simply must read.
Those fathers, they were up to something. Lady Catherine was suddenly desperate to know what it was.
Perhaps this book held the answer to her dilemma about Anne.
CHAPTER 2
That night Lady Catherine retired early. When at last she reached the final page of Fathers’ Frustration, the clock was striking three.
It mattered little that her eyes were sore from strain (for the print was small); her mind was alive with conjecture.
Yes, this story offered much to think about. The abduction did take place, with the hero and heroine waking up in an isolated house, together and alone. Over the course of a week, they were forced to depend upon one another for survival. Never mind that their eventual escape was secretly abetted by the fathers, by then the two had fallen in love. The excuse for the marriage was propriety, but it was a love match just the same. This was proven by a cousin who stepped forward to marry the girl. Letizia would have none of it, and when her beloved fought him off, she rewarded him with a lover’s kiss.
A most satisfying conclusion.
For one thing, a love match promised grandchildren. This was a prime objective for the Neapolitan fathers, but Lady Catherine now discovered that she, too, was keen to have a grandchild. Anne needn’t exert herself to raise it, but surely she was strong enough to become a mother. Then too, if Darcy loved her, he would not limit himself to duty.
If he loved her.
Surely Anne could be loveable, if only she would make the effort. As for Anne’s heart, it would not be difficult to love a handsome man like Darcy. Even Lady Catherine could see that.
Thoughts were spinning, so many thoughts. It was useless to remain in bed; she must act. Lady Catherine pulled on her dressing gown and a pair of slippers, hunted up a fresh candle, and left the bedchamber. Down through the darkened house she crept. When she reached her writing table, she pounced on the file. Here was the key to her plan: the lonely moor house. For she did have a plan, one that involved intrigue and manipulation and abduction. The book spelled it all out for her.
Who would suspect? This was England, for goodness’ sake. Kidnappings were the stuff of gothic romances, not everyday life. A lonely house, isolated from the modern world, surely existed closer to home, but most were within easy reach of neighbouring farms.
Lady Catherine was fortunate enough to own one that was not.
She sat behind the desk and pulled forward a sheet of paper. She would list her ideas, commit them to memory, and then burn the page. In no way could she be connected with this scheme. Darcy would eventually realise that she had a hand in it—if he remembered the existence of the moor house, which she doubted. But by then it would be too late.
She twitched open the file and sifted through its contents. Grimstone the house was called. No wonder the agent could not sell it!
There was even a drawing of the house. Whomever she hired to seize Darcy and Anne by force—just the thought made Lady Catherine shiver! —would find this useful.
At length she closed the file. Darcy would dislike her thoroughly for what she was about to do, but did it matter? One never had much affection for one’s relations; Lady Catherine hadn’t liked any of her aunts or uncles. In time, as Darcy’s love for Anne grew, he would come to forgive her.
But if not? One must be willing to make sacrifices for the benefit of posterity.
As to the abduction becoming known, there was nothing to fear. Darcy, like his father, was an intensely private man. Never would he share the truth with anyone. It would be simply too embarrassing.
Lady Catherine discovered that she was smiling.
Where to begin? With a letter to her solicitor, of course. Surely Mr. Hargreaves or Mr. Matthews knew of a firm that could handle the unsavoury details. Men would do almost anything for money, particularly if they were lawyers.
After breakfast she would send an express to London. Never had she been so thankful for London’s easy distance, a mere twenty-five miles. Once she engaged a firm to handle the arrangements, the post would perhaps be preferable for correspondence. Did ruffians hire reputable couriers? Of course not. Why tempt an unscrupulous messenger with a view of the Rosings estate?
After Darcy and Anne were taken, she would hire on extra guards. Yes, after a kidnapping, such an action would be thought prudent.
Of next importance was the fitting up of Grimstone House. It must be not only well-provisioned, but also dry and warm for Anne. There was no sense in forcing her to marry Darcy, only to later die of pneumonia.
Lady Catherine counted off the days. In precisely two weeks, Darcy was due to arrive. He and Colonel Fitzwilliam would remain for three more. Before that time, everything at Grimstone House must be in place. This was a near-impossible task, for even the simplest household repairs always took an age to complete. Without being present to scold and instruct, how could Lady Catherine motivate the workmen?
The answer came at once. She would offer a bonus—large enough to be tempting—to ensure that the work would be finished on time.
The thought of the money she must spend brought a sigh. There would certainly be banking matters to attend to, and these Lady Catherine must handle herself. It could not be helped, for none of the de Bourgh money must be used.
And yet, she was willing to free up the funds from her own fortune. This was a noble investment. The future of her family line was at stake.
Five weeks.
They would have to be enough.
CHAPTER 3
After an interminable meal, Lady Catherine pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Mr. Darcy politely followed suit, and so did Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mrs. Jenkinson, hovering over Anne, escorted her tenderly from the dining room.
As soon as the door swung shut, Darcy heard his cousin sigh. He came to Darcy’s end of the table and cast himself into a chair. “Have you your timepiece? I’ve forgotten mine.”
Darcy drew it out and pushed it along the polished tabletop. Fitz reached instead for the wine bottle and filled Darcy’s glass and his own.
It was now Darcy’s turn to sigh. More wine was the last thing he needed. “Are we to be concerned with the time?”
“I’m just wondering how long we can hide ourselves in here before we must go into the drawing room.”
Darcy understood Fitz’s reluctance. Aunt Catherine would doubtless prose on, with the irksome assumption that both of them agreed with her opinions. Darcy found it prudent to say as little as possible. This always made for a trying evening.
“I was hoping,” Fitz went on, “that tonight the rector and his guests would be asked to dine.”
Darcy was betrayed into a smile. “One guest in particular?”
“Well, yes. Miss Bennet would be a treat for the eyes, eh? All week we’ve had only Aunt Catherine and dreary Mrs. Jenkinson and Anne.”
“You do realise that when Miss Bennet comes, Collins must come too?”
Fitz did not bother to hide a grimace. “Such a fellow. Where did our aunt find him? One would think she’d bestow the living on a sensible man.”
“Ah, but a sensible man would not be nearly as grateful as Collins, nor as eager to agree with her every statement.”
“Does the man never stop talking?”
