The Three Colonels

by Jack Caldwell

  “When it came time for my sisters to marry, Father was happy to unite Anne with George Darcy. He knew that they would get along very well. With Cathy, Father was more cautious. He arranged for her introduction to Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a baronet he considered to be of good sense. Cathy saw Rosings and a title, and she was satisfied. Sir Lewis was a man who saw to everything himself and, therefore, was content with a good-looking bride. Catherine was considered quite a beauty in her day, you know, though she was nothing to Anne. Rosings was well run, so it had no need of a good mistress.

  “But Sir Lewis was no fool. He and Father had long discussions, and many things were considered. I was party to the marriage negotiations, and after the marriage, George Darcy became an advisor as well. In the wedding agreement and afterward in his will, Sir Lewis made sure that Catherine could do little to damage his family estate. Rosings and the title would go, of course, to the eldest son upon Sir Lewis’s death.

  “Where Sir Lewis was clever was in the circumstance of his heir being a daughter. Sir Lewis wanted Rosings to go to his offspring and not to be entailed to some distant male relative. He also did not trust his wife to be a good manager of his estates. He knew she did not have the necessary ability to govern or to be advised. So he set up, in case of his demise, a system called usufruct. Lady Catherine would get the income of Rosings, but the ownership would be held in trust until his male heir reached the age of majority or, in case no son survived him, until his eldest surviving daughter married. When either of those conditions was met, Lady Catherine would receive the right of dowager, including the dowager house. He also named George Darcy and me, and our heirs, as trustees.

  “When Sir Lewis died unexpectedly, George Darcy and I acted quickly. We made sure the solicitors understood the peculiar aspects of Sir Lewis’s will and gained complete control of the grounds, farms, and household as trustees for Anne. The housekeeper at that time was considered too close to Lady Catherine, and the old steward was ready to retire, so old Darcy and I placed our own people there. We allowed Cathy to have power over the rest of the household staff as a peace offering.

  “To say the least, Cathy was displeased by our actions. Our gesture was nothing to her. Oh, how she railed! She tried everything to overturn her husband’s wishes and our efforts. She even had Mrs. Parks and the new steward’s contracts burned. Eventually, she gave way, especially after we threatened to force her into the dowager house immediately as a matter of economy.

  “For many years thereafter, George Darcy and I were responsible for the supervision of the management of Rosings. When your good father died, Darcy, you were placed in his stead.”

  Darcy looked hard at the earl. “I thought that such an honor was given me in expectation of my marriage to Anne. You should have told me, Uncle.”

  “Aye, I should have. I offer no excuse. I suppose I was afraid of stirring things up again with your aunt.”

  Richard grunted to himself. You are being dishonest, Father. We both know Darcy. He never would have tolerated Aunt Catherine’s behavior had he known of his true power over her. War between her and the family would have been ignited long ago. The inevitable has only been delayed.

  “Father,” asked Lord Andrew, “what would happen if Anne never married?”

  “The usufruct would remain in effect until Lady Catherine’s death. It would be up to the trustees whether to transfer control to Anne or continue to act on her behalf.”

  “Ha!”

  “What do you mean by that, Andrew?”

  “Do you not see? This is the genesis of Aunt Catherine’s plan to marry Anne to Darcy!” He turned to his cousin. “There never was an agreement between my aunts for you to marry our cousin, was there?”

  “No,” answered Darcy. “My mother wanted me to make my own choice.”

  “But had you found Anne agreeable, would you have quit Pemberley?” Richard flinched at Andrew’s words.

  “Never!”

  “Ah, the perfect solution to her problem! With Anne married to you and removed to Pemberley, Auntie Cathy would remain Mistress of Rosings rather than occupant of the dowager house. The income would probably continue to flow to her for Rosings’s expenses. You always were softhearted, Darcy. It was never about blood—only money!”

  The other men were stunned silent. The answer was so obvious they all questioned their wits that they had not realized it sooner. Lady Catherine’s character was certainly capable of fabricating such a scheme.

  Lord Andrew was in his element now. “It was rather clever, you must admit. That is why she never turned to you to take Darcy’s place, Richard. You would have taken over Rosings in a heartbeat. No, either the old lady would find some other well-landed suitor for Anne, or our cousin would never marry!”

  A blade twisted in Richard’s stomach.

  “I disagree, Andrew,” said Darcy. “Anne is of legal age; she can marry without permission.”

  Richard hid a smile. Anne’s declaration upon his leaving Rosings had given rise to a new hope. Perhaps Anne would marry without her mother’s consent. If Rosings were indeed Anne’s, she would be able to marry him without sacrificing her situation. Richard would not have to depend on a colonel’s pay and could support Anne in the style to which she had been accustomed. Anne was of age; she wanted him—ha! He did not like the idea of making Lady Catherine his implacable enemy, but he would not let that stop him. If Anne would have him, let the old woman rage. It was her choice. There was nothing she could do to stop their happiness!

  “Well,” Lord Matlock rumbled as he puffed his cigar, “I believe that Catherine will storm for a bit, but no harm will come of it. The important thing is that Rosings Park is safe.”

  Andrew turned to Richard. “What is next for you now that Bonaparte is loose?”

  Richard was pulled from his very agreeable musings. “The regiment is on alert, watching events in France.”

  At that moment, the butler entered. “Begging your pardon, you lordship, but there is an express rider at the door.”

  “Ah, yes.” The earl got to his feet. “I have been expecting something from my banker in London. Please excuse me.” Lord Matlock followed the butler out of the room.

  “Well, I expect we will be hearing next of that damned Corsican’s head on a pike. The Frogs cannot be stupid enough to want him back!” Lord Andrew declared.

  Darcy turned from the mantle. “I must disagree with you again, Andrew. King Louis’s government is very unpopular. There may well be civil war.”

  “Here is something new—you disagreeing with me, Darcy! All is right in the world as long as Fitzwilliam Darcy finds fault with Andrew Fitzwilliam! Tell me, is there anyone you totally agree with except that wife of yours?” At Darcy’s glare, Lord Andrew continued with a smile, “Oh, come now! Do not take offense, old man! You know we approve of Elizabeth.”

  “It took you long enough to come around.”

  “Again with that? Very well—yes, we have come to see that she is not the uncultured country girl we feared. She has not hurt our standing in society, and she has done wonders with Georgiana. In short, she is too good for the likes of you. How you managed to win her I will never comprehend.”

  Before Richard could express his opinion, all conversation ended with Lord Matlock’s reentrance, a grim look on his face. Without a word, he handed a letter to Richard. Richard immediately noted that it was from the War Office addressed to him. With a sinking feeling, he murmured an apology, opened the letter, and read in silence.

  Finally, Lord Andrew could bear no more. “What is the news?”

  Richard looked up slowly, all his hopes dashed. “I am recalled to London. King Louis has fled the country. Bonaparte has entered Paris and declared himself again Emperor of the French Republic. It is war.”

  * * *

  Delaford

  Richard Fitzwilliam was not the only one receiving express letters.

  “Do not worry, my love,” Christopher Brandon told his wife as his valet packed
his trunk. “I shall only be gone for a little while—less than a fortnight, I should not wonder.”

  “But, Christopher, you are requested so urgently!” Marianne observed. “Why would they want you? You have been inactive for so very long.”

  Because Wellington wants me, he replied to himself. The country was not ready—it had too many troops on the other side of the Atlantic because of that insane war with the Americans. “Perhaps they need a new staff officer in London during the crisis. If so, I will send for you and Joy to join me at Brandon House in Town.” Brandon turned to his valet. “All done there, my man? Excellent.” He opened his arms. “My love, I must leave.”

  Tearfully his wife embraced him. “I am so worried.”

  “Never fear, my Marianne. Nothing will keep me from returning to you.”

  * * *

  Newcastle

  Captain George Wickham entered his commanding general’s office along with the other officers.

  “Gentlemen,” the general began without any other preamble, “it seems our old enemy is back. Yet another coalition is being formed to contain Bonaparte. All training regimens are hereby doubled. We leave for Belgium in a month.”

  Wickham looked about stupidly. “Begging your pardon, sir. Did you say we were leaving?”

  “Yes. Any questions, Captain?”

  Wickham could not restrain himself. “Why, sir?”

  The general gave the assembled a crooked grin. “It seems we are invited to the party this time. The War Office has ordered this regiment to join Wellington on the Continent.”

  A stunned murmur arose from the attending officers. Wickham did not join in; he was too shocked. Finally, thoughts began to form in his head. War? He was going to war! He did not join the army to fight a war! He thought he was in a safe regiment!

  He suddenly remembered that he did not “join” voluntarily, and he did not choose his regiment—someone else did.

  Damn that Darcy!

  Chapter 16

  Vienna

  On the day before Easter, the ambassadors of Austria-Hungary, Prussia, Russia, and Great Britain gathered around the table, documents scattered before them. The other members of the delegations—diplomats, advisors, secretaries, and others—stood watching against the walls of the room, while staffers moved about the great men, papers and pens in hand. Some representatives of the lesser powers were also in attendance.

  The French Delegation was nowhere to be seen. It was understandable; the authority of the ambassador of the Court of Louis XVIII of France was dissolved with the king’s flight from Paris.

  This was the largest gathering of the Congress, and its task was grim. The treaty before them was based on the declaration of 13 March 1815. It stated that Napoleon Bonaparte, self-appointed Emperor of the French, had placed himself outside civil and social relations and handed himself over to public justice as the enemy and disturber of the peace of the world. The signatories agreed to establish a coalition—the seventh of its kind—to oppose the Tyrant, and they pledged to raise armies of at least 150,000 each to enforce the peace and security of Europe and restore the lawful government of France.

  One member of the audience turned to another. “Does the duke realize what he is doing? He is committing the government to war—and at such a scale,” the British diplomat whispered to his companion.

  “I believe his lordship knows exactly what he is about,” answered Buford. “He is forcing the government’s hand—not that it matters. He has already been named commander-in-chief of all British and Hanoverian forces on the Continent. We simply await the official commission.”

  The situation was grave. Marshal Ney had promised King Louis XVIII that he would bring Bonaparte back to Paris in an iron cage. Instead, Ney defected to his old commander along with the six thousand men under his command. Marshal Murat, the Bonaparte-installed king of Naples who had joined with the Coalition the year before when France’s defeat seemed certain, now betrayed his new allies and declared for Napoleon and a united Italy. He was already attacking the Austrians.

  “Do you join the duke in Brussels?” Buford was asked.

  “We leave directly. I am to serve as advance staff until my regiment is shipped from England.”

  “And Lady Buford? Does she remain in Vienna?”

  “No,” said Buford firmly. “She journeys with us to take a boat for England. I would have her safe with my family.”

  A bustle at the table drew the gentlemen’s attention. The signing done, the ambassadors shook hands and began leaving the room. Wellington walked over to where the British delegation had gathered.

  “Well, that is that. Come, gentlemen—there is work to be done.”

  * * *

  After attending Easter morning services, Caroline rushed about the apartments, overseeing the last of the preparations for their departure. Roberts and Abigail saw to the clothes and personal items, while Caroline worked with Frau Lippermann and Helga to arrange for the packing of the few vases and objets d’art that the Bufords had purchased during their stay and the shutting down of the household.

  It was a bit of a challenge. Abigail was all atwitter; she feared that the Tyrant’s armies might march down the street at any moment. The housekeeper and cook had no English, and Caroline had no German—except for three words, and they were not applicable to the situation—but through patience and pantomime, progress had been made.

  Finally, all was accomplished: trunks were packed, debts were discharged, and arrangements were made. Sir John and several footmen strode into a forest of packing rather than the chaos that produced it.

  Sir John looked about the mass of trunks and boxes with a knowledgeable eye. He had a fair idea of logistics and knew what his wife had accomplished. It was no less than he had expected, yet he was wise enough to praise Caroline.

  “My dear, you have done wonders,” Sir John said as he kissed her hand. “Give these men but a moment, and we shall be off.”

  A moment turned into the better part of an hour, but it did not signify. It gave Caroline a chance to bid farewell to her remaining staff.

  “Frau Lipperman, Helga, I wish to thank you for your services—Ich bedanke mich,” she read from a card. “You have done good work—gut gemacht. Here is my recommendation—Dienstzeugnis—for each of you. I hope you find employment very soon. I wish you Happy Easter—Frohe Ostern. Auf Wiedersehen.”

  The two women looked at her for a moment before rushing to hug their former mistress. “Danke sehr! Wir werden Sie vermissen! Leben Sie wohl! Gott segne Sie—Frohe Ostern! Auf Wiedersehen! Goot bye, my lady!” Helga was actually in tears. It took no little time for the departing mistress to extract herself from the tearful farewells.

  Soon, two carriages were making their way out of the Austrian capital. Caroline looked back at the city as they left. So much had happened there in just a month, she thought as she grasped her husband’s hand.

  Shall I ever look upon Vienna again?

  * * *

  The trip to Vienna in early February had been a delight. The trip from Vienna in late March was a nightmare. Time was of the essence, and the horses were pushed to their limits. The carriages rocked the occupants cruelly. The spring rains threatened to wash out the roads on more than one occasion, and ever-present was the fear that Napoleon would strike before the Allies were ready.

  What was beautiful before was no longer. Mountains that were awe-inspiring became obstacles to overcome. Deep forests now seemed closed-in and menacing. Any castle or town, no matter how stately or charming, could contain an enemy, and the rivers were living things that sought to destroy the little group.

  Each day the party rose before sunrise. They would seldom stop before dusk, except for changes in the teams, when they would consume a hurried meal. The travelers could not be particular as to the choice of lodging—any inn with relatively clean beds would do. The food, for the most part, was revolting.

  The only pleasure the couple enjoyed was sought at night. No matter h
ow exhausted the lovers were, Sir John and his lady would lose themselves in each other’s arms. Their lovemaking was intense and urgent, as if the pair felt they needed to consume a lifetime of love within this single journey. They never spoke of it or of the future; it was understood. The only words that passed between them were those of love and devotion and need. They basked in their newfound understanding of the other’s feelings. In the coach during the day, they never left each other’s side.

  The trip was harder on Caroline than on her husband. More mornings than not, she awoke sick to her stomach, but she would not complain, request a moderation of the pace of the journey, or even speak of her discomfort, for she refused to be a burden to Sir John.

  Finally, in early April, they crossed the Rhine into Belgium.

  * * *

  Antwerp

  “Damnation! There is no passage to be had!” cried Buford as he entered his rooms. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have asked everywhere, but I can get no proper passage for you and our servants back to England, at least anytime soon. In a month, perhaps, they say. Damn them!”

  Caroline left off writing to her sister and rose to see to her husband. “Sir John, please,” she gently scolded him. “Would it be so bad if we remained? Other officers have brought their wives.”

  Sir John looked torn. “My love, the selfish side of me would wish you by my side, but that is impossible! The others are fools! I will not have you here in danger. Perhaps I can arrange for a fishing boat—”

  “No, sir! As I said before, I will not go without Abby and Roberts or our belongings!”

  For at least the fourth time in as many days, the couple argued the point, and the colonel found that he still could not budge his wife. Assured in her husband’s esteem and affections, Caroline’s old assertiveness had returned, and her time in Vienna had instilled in her a fierce attachment to their servants.