“Come in, my dear,” answered a voice that unsuccessfully hid sobs.
Anne opened the door to behold her longtime companion sitting at her desk, holding a piece of paper in one hand and wiping tears from her face with the other. Anne rushed to her side. Taking the older woman’s hand in hers, she asked, “What pains you? Can I be of any service, any comfort?”
Mrs. Jenkinson only shook her head and handed the letter to her former charge. A glance was enough. It was a signed notice from her mother dismissing Mrs. Jenkinson from her employ at Rosings. Anne flushed with anger but not surprise; she had expected this move by Lady Catherine.
She took the older woman’s face in her hands and said, “I have told you before, Mrs. Jenkinson, you shall always have a home with me.”
“But not at Rosings—not now,” she said softly. “Where am I to go? I have no children, and my family is all gone.”
Anne’s face had gone stony. “Do not despair. Leave this to me.” She rose and turned towards the door.
Mrs. Jenkinson rose in alarm. “Oh, Anne, what are you going to do? Please, do nothing rash. I shall manage—”
Anne de Bourgh turned back to her former governess, fire in her eyes. “This has gone on for far too long. It ends today.” She then left the room.
Mrs. Jenkinson gasped, for her former charge sounded just like her mother.
Anne swept down the hallway towards the staircase. At the head of it, she intercepted Mrs. Parks.
“Where is Mother?” she barked.
“In the parlor, miss.”
Acknowledging the reply with the smallest of nods, Anne marched down the stairs and to the doors of the parlor. Without preamble, Anne opened the doors and moved resolutely towards Lady Catherine. Her mother was at her writing table, reviewing her correspondence.
“Mother,” Anne greeted Lady Catherine with an icy voice, “it has come to my attention that you have dismissed Mrs. Jenkinson. Is this indeed your intention?”
“Well, miss! You now presume to speak to me! I should thank you, I am sure. Yes, I have let your governess go. It was my impression you had no need of one,” Lady Catherine sneered. “Besides, we need to economize now that we should expect no rents this year.”
Anne ignored the jab. “Do not play games with me, Mother. You do nothing without cause. What do you want?”
“Watch your tone, miss.”
“What do you want?”
Lady Catherine glared at her. “Your obedience and your deference, Anne.”
“So—I am to go to Bath, is it?”
Anne saw her mother’s eyes gleam. “Yes, Bath. I know what is best for you. You must be with society worthy of you. It is all arranged. I have been in correspondence with a General Tilney…”
Anne watched her mother rant on in silence. Why was she doing this? What was the reason for her determination? She was almost desperate. Was it just her feelings of betrayal at the hands of her uncle?
“…and a house of your own, a great estate, that is what you are destined for, Anne! Just follow my lead—”
Anne interrupted. “Are you saying that if I do this—go with you to Bath—you will reinstate Mrs. Jenkinson?”
“Of course, my dear.”
Anne started to laugh.
“What do you find so amusing?” Lady Catherine asked in a dangerous voice.
“You, Mother! Do you believe this is the Dark Ages? You would blackmail me, your only daughter, into marriage to some rich, landed fool? You think the only price you will pay is the wages for my companion? How did you grow so corrupted?”
“How dare you—”
“Silence, Mother! Your schemes are not to be borne! Let us have a right understanding between us, madam. I will never go to Bath with you. The day Mrs. Jenkinson leaves this house is the day I do. You have a choice before you—suffer my companion or lose both of us.”
“Where would you go, child?” shouted Lady Catherine. “To the streets, I suppose?”
“No, to my uncle,” Anne said, as if explaining to a child.
The result was unexpected; Lady Catherine went pale. “N… no, that will not be necessary!” She halted and worked to get control of her emotions. “I had not realized how… how attached you have become to your companion. Far be it from me to cause you any pain. Please let Mrs. Jenkinson know that her services shall be welcomed here for as long as you wish.”
She paused and then, incredibly, began to beg. “Do not turn your back upon me, dear Anne. I could not bear it. I do know what is proper for you, but we shall not speak of it now. Let us consider each other’s view and talk again another day. Come, give your mother a kiss.”
Anne looked wide-eyed at her mother. As she bent to kiss Lady Catherine’s cheek, she could only wonder if her mother had finally gone mad.
“Thank you, my dear. Shall I see you for dinner, then?” Lady Catherine turned back to her letters.
Anne only wanted to leave the room at that instant to sort her own raging thoughts. “Yes, Mother—until then.” Anne left the room with as much composure as she could muster.
Within a few minutes, she was sitting in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room again. Her friend was overjoyed at news of her reprieve.
“Oh, thank you, my dear. That was such a brave thing for you to do. But I do not wish to be a source of disagreement between you and your mother,” the older lady said. “But it is so strange! That her ladyship would give in so quickly! I do not see the cause of it.”
“Neither do I, but I think I may know someone who does.”
* * *
London
Caroline was finishing her weekly letter to her husband. She wrote of family doings, news from society, and the latest events caused by her changing physique. Three months along now, her morning sickness had finally stopped—that was the good news. The strange cravings for odd foods puzzled Caroline intensely. She was assured by all her female relations that it was perfectly normal, but it still made no sense to her. She wrote of it anyway, thinking Sir John would find her predicament amusing.
Caroline had received no other letters from her husband after the one in late April. She told herself not to worry; he was undoubtedly busy with all the things that soldiers do—whatever that might be. He had warned her, after all. Besides, it was her duty to write—to brighten his day and lighten his cares. Caroline was surprised at the contentment she felt at giving rather than taking.
It had been decided that Caroline would remain in London for the duration of her confinement. She had no wish to go to a Welsh physician she did not know for this first child of hers. Also, London was closer to Belgium; surely her letters would get there faster.
Godspeed you to Antwerp, she thought as she kissed the letter.
* * *
Brussels
“Good ride, gentlemen!” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam to his regiment as he dismounted. “Enjoy your evening. We shall ride tomorrow at nine.”
Richard gave the reins to a private, patted his horse, and began walking into his guesthouse. He had not gone but a few yards before he beheld Major General Sir John Vandeleur and the Earl of Uxbridge, his commanding officers, arriving on horseback. Coming to attention, Richard fired off a salute.
“Your regiment looks very good, Fitzwilliam,” Uxbridge congratulated him as he lazily returned the gesture.
“They will do, sir.” Fitzwilliam knew it had been some time since they last saw action in Spain.
“Veterans—wish we had more, eh, your lordship?” said Vandeleur.
“The heavies will do their job, never fear,” replied Uxbridge. “Carry on, Fitzwilliam.”
“Good work, Colonel. I will inspect your regiment the day after tomorrow,” said Vandeleur as he and Uxbridge rode away. Richard continued his walk towards the guesthouse. There he found Buford waiting in the dining room.
“How was today, Buford?” Richard asked as he took his seat.
“No troubles—the regiment is a bit rusty, but they are coming along. You?”
<
br /> “The same. Oh, thank you,” Richard told the innkeeper, who had just handed him a letter.
“Go ahead, open your letter,” said Buford as casually as he could.
Richard slipped Georgiana’s letter into his coat pocket. “No, I will just read this later,” he said with a cat-got-the-cream grin.
Buford sipped his wine to hide his agitation. Why does Caroline not write?
Chapter 21
Rosings Park
Lady Catherine came down the stairs in mid-morning feeling very sure of herself. Since her confrontation with Anne a fortnight ago, she had been busy with correspondence to General Tilney in Bath and to her friends in London, Lady Metcalfe and Mrs. Ferrars. She had also been careful not to upset Anne. The plan was to take Anne to London, ostensibly to support Georgiana during the Season; society would have its way, war or no war.
In secret, Lady Catherine was trying to arrange that General Tilney and his son would “accidentally” meet with her and Anne during a ball. Surely, Tilney’s son could take matters from there. If not, Mrs. Ferrars and Lady Metcalfe knew of other good, titled families. It was all a matter of opportunity—Anne was here and Richard was across the sea. Lady Catherine would have her way—and Rosings—in the end.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she noticed that the footmen were acting strangely. They were talking behind their hands to one another.
“Here, what is this?” she cried. “Do you have nothing to do but stand in idleness? Be off with you! See to your duties, or you shall be looking for a new situation!”
As the men scampered away, Lady Catherine allowed herself a slight smile; it always felt good to put the help in its place. It never occurred to her to inquire about the subject of the conversation—surely a servant could say nothing worth hearing.
She moved towards the parlor when she noted Mrs. Parks and the butler standing next to the library. They also were having a whispered conversation. The pair noticed Lady Catherine’s presence and ended their tête-à-tête, yet made no effort to leave. It grated on Lady Catherine’s soul to put up with those two, but there was nothing for it; they were employed by her traitorous brother, the earl. She still considered giving them a piece of her mind, but the grand lady thought better of it and entered the parlor.
As she walked to her writing table—there was another letter to General Tilney to write—she noticed some movement outside the window. Lady Catherine was as curious as the next person—in fact, more so. She could be considered downright nosy. True to her character, she looked out the window and beheld her destruction—the carriage of the Earl of Matlock.
For a moment, she stared dumbfounded at the evil vehicle, as though the harder she looked, the more likely the image before her would evaporate. Stubbornly, the carriage refused to disintegrate, and Lady Catherine was forced to come to the awful realization that her brother, Hugh, was here—at Rosings—with Anne.
Fear gripped her heart, but not strongly enough to choke the cry that escaped from her lips. Blindly, Lady Catherine dashed from the room into the main hall—right into Mrs. Parks. Gasping like a fish, she was able to manage, “Where are they?”
Mrs. Parks did not have to ask to whom Lady Catherine was referring. She had been waiting fifteen years to tell her.
“They are in the library.”
Lady Catherine turned to the door, already opened by the butler, and dashed inside. There she found the earl at Sir Lewis’s old desk with Anne sitting in a chair beside him. Standing next to both of them were her nephew, Darcy, and another man. All were reviewing a stack of papers. Lady Catherine gasped, which caught the attention of those assembled, as well as a fifth person she failed to notice.
“Your ladyship!” cried her toady, Mr. Collins. “Are you quite well? Please, you must take care of yourself. One with your august constitution should not be gasping out of breath! Come, I will help you to a chair—”
“Do not touch me, worm!” she cried. “What are you two doing here?” She pointed at her brother and nephew.
“Setting right what I have allowed to fester for too many years, Catherine,” the Earl of Matlock replied. “May I introduce my new solicitor, Mr. Tucker?”
“Very glad to make your acquaint—” began Tucker.
“Silence!” Lady Catherine shouted. “Anne, I do not know what lies they have told you, but do not believe them, I beg you!” Anne turned her head. “Anne, I am your mother! You will obey me! I am mistress of this house!”
Anne faced her mother with a look of steel. “No, you are not, Mother. I am!”
“That is not so! Brother, tell her!”
The earl turned to Anne. “As we have been explaining to you, Anne, your father left Rosings to you, with your Uncle Darcy and me as trustees—”
“No!” Lady Catherine interrupted. “Rosings is mine until she marries or I die!”
The earl turned to Mr. Tucker. “If you would be good enough to explain again, Mr. Tucker.”
“Of course, my lord. Lady Catherine, you are correct in stating the intent of Sir Lewis’s will. He did leave Rosings to your daughter, with you holding a usufruct on her inheritance, until either Miss de Bourgh marries or inherits from you, whichever occurs first.”
“Yes, yes, that is correct. What nonsense is all this? I am certainly not dead, and Anne is not married—” Horror came over Lady Catherine’s face. “Are you, Anne?”
“Aunt, please be so good as to allow Mr. Tucker to finish,” requested Darcy.
For his part, the earl almost felt guilty over the pleasure he was receiving from this experience—almost.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Tucker. “Lady Catherine, as your daughter is of legal age and of sound mind and good character, I do not think it would be particularly difficult for a court to set aside this completely ridiculous will, especially as the management of the estate has been in the hands of others for years.”
“You can try, sir!” Lady Catherine cried. “I have my own resources!”
“Yes, I am sure you do. However, that matter is moot, as Miss de Bourgh has fulfilled the requirements of the will.”
“But she is not married!”
“No, but she is betrothed.”
“What? To Richard? She cannot be! I have not given my consent!”
Mr. Tucker looked hard at Lady Catherine. “Miss de Bourgh is of the age of consent; therefore, your permission is moot.” He turned to Anne. “Miss de Bourgh, have you been writing letters to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?”
Anne looked Mr. Tucker full in the face. “Yes, I have.”
Gravely, he continued, “And has Colonel Fitzwilliam replied to you?”
“Yes, he has.” Anne smiled.
“I can categorically affirm that they have exchanged letters,” declared Darcy.
“Such behavior sounds very much like a betrothal to me!” piped in Matlock. “What do you say, Mr. Collins?”
The vicar rose, and in a very solemn voice intoned, “It is a great indiscretion for persons who are not engaged to correspond privately with each other. I fear that Colonel Fitzwilliam has compromised Miss de Bourgh’s reputation. If they are not betrothed, steps must be taken to preserve the good name of de Bourgh—”
“Sit down, you traitor!” screamed Lady Catherine. “I will have you out of Hunsford parsonage before nightfall—you and that horrid wife and loathsome children of yours!”
Anne leapt to her feet. “You will not threaten my parson! Mr. Collins is correct—Richard and I have been indiscreet. Since we have defied society and acted as an engaged couple, I will accept the fact that I have indeed entered into such a promise. I consider myself betrothed to Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I speak for my family,” intoned the earl. “I declare that Richard is indeed betrothed to Anne.”
Lady Catherine looked down and then tried one last tack. “I am still mistress of Rosings. Anne is not yet married—”
“Ah, true,” began Tucker, “but if the families involved publicly st
ate that the couple is engaged, and Colonel Fitzwilliam does not deny it, they are indeed betrothed. In this case, Colonel Fitzwilliam is away at war. If anything should happen to Colonel Fitzwilliam, the law would look at Miss de Bourgh as if she were already married to him. They are betrothed, and the law treats this very seriously. As this is the case, it could be argued that the law would recognize that Miss de Bourgh has met the requirements of this unorthodox will and is now owner of Rosings Park, as it recognizes her as married over other matters.
“You could, of course, contest all this—”
“I certainly shall! I will never agree that Anne is betrothed to anyone!”
Tucker was unruffled. “That is certainly your right, Lady Catherine, but I must advise you to think better of it. If you do bring this to court, Lord Matlock and Mr. Darcy have pledged to act on Miss de Bourgh’s behalf. Every detail of this business will become public in the trial: Sir Lewis’s will, the trusteeship, and Miss de Bourgh’s… actions.”
Lady Catherine blanched at the thought of all their private affairs being published in the London papers. She turned to her daughter.
“You do not have to do this! This can be repaired!” begged her mother.
“Mother,” said Anne, “I want to marry Richard.”
“But he has nothing!”
“He has my heart; that is enough.”
“Love—you love him? Oh, do not be a fool! Love is not enough to live on!”
“What more is there?” Anne shot back. “What joy has wealth and position ever brought you? Has Rosings brought you happiness? You have barricaded yourself in your great house, estranged from your own family. You go nowhere; you see no one. Well, Mother, how is this existence different from being dead?
“And this is the life you planned for me. Well, I choose differently. I shall marry the man I love and fill this dank place with the laughter of my children. Is that so foolish?”
Lady Catherine had no answer.
“Gentlemen,” said Anne to the others, “thank you for your counsel. However, I would ask for a few moments alone with my mother.” The gentlemen rose and left the room.
The Three Colonels Page 22
