The new assistant housekeeper brought in a pot of coffee while Helga carried a dessert behind her. “Tea—just vone minute, thankyou verymuch.”
“Danke.” Caroline received the plate from Helga; meanwhile Mrs. Albertine Buford, now composed, rejoined the party. “Mother Buford, will you pour the coffee?” She smiled at her guests. “Philip arranged for Frau Lippermann and Helga to emigrate from Austria. Was that not considerate of him? We have been practicing; I speak German to them, and they speak English to me. With two Mrs. Bufords in the dowager house, we are Frau Albertine and Frau Caroline.”
Sir John laughed. “It is well I speak German, else I would be forever wondering what mischief was about!”
Caroline gave a loving look to her husband, a gesture whose meaning escaped the others’ understanding.
She then said, “Richard, may I offer you some of this Meranertorte? I must insist you have some. It is simply divine.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, the same carriage made its way to Darcy House. The gentlemen inside were just as solemn as before, if not as quiet.
“So, you still plan to leave for Delaford in the morning, Brandon?” Darcy asked.
“Yes—thank you for inviting me for the night. It saves me the cost of an inn.” Christopher never would open Brandon House just for one night.
Darcy turned to his cousin. “And you, Richard, are you still for Longbourn with us?”
“Yes, I will pay my respects to Mrs. Wickham, then I am off to Kent.”
“Going to beard the lioness in her own den?” teased his cousin.
Sir Richard patted his coat where he kept two letters next to his heart—one he received in April, the other in June. “I have all the armor I need right here, Cuz. I have faced Napoleon’s hordes. What is an elderly aunt to me?”
Before more could be said, the carriage reached its destination. As the party approached the door, it was flung open by the mistress of the house herself. She greeted her husband passionately, her cousin affectionately, and the others very cordially. Darcy escorted the group into the front hall, Elizabeth on his arm.
“Oh, Richard, I neglected to tell you that family business has come up,” said Darcy. “Would you join me in the library?”
“Now?” cried Sir Richard. “I have just arrived! Can it not wait?”
“Richard, it is family business,” repeated his cousin gravely.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Are you ever on holiday from business? I wanted to spend some time with Elizabeth and Georgiana, but apparently, there is nothing for it! Come on, then—let us get to it!” Disappointed and aggravated, Sir Richard stormed into Darcy’s library. There he found a lady waiting for him.
Sir Richard was frozen for a moment, trying to believe his eyes. Anne de Bourgh, in a beautiful blue gown, stood smiling at him. Then, with three quick steps, Richard seized his beloved’s face between his hands, and, for the first time, thoroughly kissed her. Anne’s arms went quickly around his neck and pulled him even closer.
Darcy discreetly backed out of the room and closed the door.
Colonel Brandon, who had seen all, chuckled in the hall. “Now, that is a proper greeting for a returning soldier,” he remarked to Elizabeth as she led him into the parlor. There he found his own surprise.
“Christopher!” cried Marianne Brandon as she leapt into his arms.
Brandon tried to speak, but he found that he could not for all his wife’s kisses.
As Elizabeth turned to Colonel Denny after closing the parlor door, she saw the officer looking about with wide, nervous eyes. “May I help you, Colonel?” she asked.
“I do not know, Mrs. Darcy. You do not have Miss Augusta Liverpool lurking about anywhere, do you?”
“No. Pray, who is Miss Liverpool?”
A relieved Denny said, “Someone I hope is not waiting for me.”
Elizabeth laughed gaily while Darcy patted the officer on the back. “You are safe from Miss Liverpool. Come into the sitting room. I promise that all that awaits you are my sister and cucumber sandwiches.”
* * *
Sir Richard and Anne finally came up for air. “I have so much to tell you,” they cried in unison.
“You first, Anne.”
“No, you first.”
Richard kissed Anne again. “Your last letter—is it true? We are engaged?”
“Well, what do you expect for compromising me?”
Sir Richard’s face broke into a wide grin. “Anne de Bourgh, I love you.”
Anne smiled cheekily in return. “That is well, for I adore you!”
“You know, I have not kissed you before today.”
“Egad, we have been engaged for over two months! We have some catching up to do.”
* * *
“Marianne, my Marianne, I cannot believe it.” Christopher stroked her face.
“I am no dream, m’love.”
“Why did you not tell me you would be in London?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did that. Wait, whose idea was this?”
“Mine, why do you ask?”
“It sounds like something Mrs. Darcy would plan.”
“Well, she helped.”
Christopher kissed her forehead. “My love, where is Joy? Back at Delaford?”
“As if your daughter would permit that!”
“What do you mean? She is here?”
“If by here you mean Darcy House, no. She awaits her papa at Brandon House.” At his look she added, “Oh no, Christopher! We must remain for some little time—for form’s sake, at least. Joy is napping now, in any case. Let us rejoin the Darcys.”
* * *
The party sat comfortably around the sitting room. The Brandons took up most of one couch, Marianne practically draped over her husband. Denny was embarrassed, and Georgiana was slightly shocked, but the Darcys looked upon their friends with a lenient eye. Sir Richard and Anne had yet to make their appearance.
Elizabeth addressed Colonel Denny. “Thank you for volunteering to come to Longbourn with us. I trust Mrs. Wickham will appreciate your kindness. I am instructed to tell you that she personally thanks you for your compassionate letter to my family.”
The colonel colored slightly. “It is the least I can do, Mrs. Darcy. It is I who must thank you—for lodgings here tonight and for transport tomorrow.” Denny was traveling with the Darcys to Meryton to offer his personal condolences to Lydia. She and the children had removed to Longbourn at the report of Wickham’s death.
“Think nothing of it,” said Darcy. “We shall leave tomorrow after breakfast to collect Mrs. Tucker, and thence to Hertfordshire.”
Georgiana stuttered, “Were you there, Colonel… when…” She could not finish.
Denny struggled over what to say. “Yes, I was there, but I did not see Major Wickham fall.” He in good conscience could not tell the girl the whole truth. Wickham had awaited Napoleon’s approaching Imperial Guard like a man in anticipation of his execution. When Denny found Wickham’s body after the battle, he saw that a cannonball had practically cut his old friend in half. No, Denny would never share those visions. They were forever entombed along with Wickham in a grave at Waterloo. “He fought well, but so did many others we left behind us in Belgium.”
“I understand that Richard was made a knight,” Georgiana continued. “Do you receive any award?”
“No, Miss Darcy, save that my brevet promotion to colonel was made permanent. That is award enough for me.”
“Why is that?”
Denny smiled. “I will now have money enough to marry, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana blushed.
Darcy asked, “So you plan to remain in the army, Denny?”
“Yes, sir. I find the military life suits me.”
“What is your next post?” asked Christopher.
“For now, I am to return to Horse Guards. But I think I will put in for a transfer to India next year.”
“Why India?” asked
Georgiana.
“A colonel’s pay goes further there, and I hope to work towards promotion, Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth smiled. She could read between the lines better than most, and Colonel Denny’s attentions to the Widow Wickham had been very marked. She wondered whether Lydia would like living in India.
Sir Richard and Anne finally entered the sitting room, walking in hand in hand. Elizabeth, Marianne, and Georgiana embraced the couple with cries of delight. It was some time before the pair could sit down upon a sofa.
“If you do not mind, Darcy,” Sir Richard said, “I think there will be a change of plans.”
“I thought there might. Kent or Derbyshire?”
“Rosings first—Lady Catherine deserves at least that.” Sir Richard then grinned. “Besides, I need to survey my new properties now that harvest time grows near.”
“Do you think you will enjoy farming, sir?” asked Denny.
He gave the younger man a stern look. “Denny, we are comrades now. You may call me…” he hesitated, and then with dramatic importance, “Sir Richard.”
A pause—then Fitzwilliam dissolved into laughter.
“Denny, if you call that fool anything but Fitz, I will personally cuff you,” demanded an amused Christopher.
After a poke from Anne, Sir Richard stopped laughing. “I think I will like it well enough, Denny. I know I will fancy the accommodations.” He started chuckling again when he noted that Anne was not amused. “What is it, my dear?” She simply gave him an arch look. “What?”
“Oh, do not be cross, Cousin,” cried Georgiana. “Tell us of Richard’s proposal!”
“You have hit upon the heart of the matter, Georgiana,” Anne responded. “There has been no proposal!”
“What? Then how are you engaged?”
“You had a hand in that,” Anne said with a look.
“Oh, the letters!” Georgiana blushed while Denny simply looked confused.
Anne nodded in confirmation. “Yes, we have compromised ourselves! We wrote to each other, Colonel Denny, and there is nothing for it but to marry! Which is all fine and good, but it would be nice actually to receive a proposal,” she turned to her intended, “especially as Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam acts as if Rosings Park is his already!” She gave Richard a de Bourgh glare.
Sir Richard looked thoughtfully at Anne for a moment and then away. “Hmm, we cannot have that.” He began to stand.
“Richard?” Anne was afraid her teasing had gone too far and she had offended her beloved.
But abruptly, Sir Richard threw himself at her feet. On one knee, with one hand on his breast and the other raised to the heavens, he declared, “Sweetest, loveliest Anne! You are the light of my life, the song in my soul, the starch in my stockings—”
“The starch in your stockings?”
“Quiet, woman, you are ruining the moment. Where was I? Ah yes, I cannot live without you! Would you—could you—might you—consider taking pity on this poor fool? I offer all that I have—an old warhorse and a slightly used sabre. What treasure! All I own and my heart. Say yes and make me the happiest man in the world! Reject me, and call for the undertaker the next instant, for I shall surely die of a broken heart. My fate is in your hands, my lady.”
He lowered his face into his hands for a moment before peeking up at her. He beheld a smirking Anne, trying not to giggle. He could not see the various looks of his audience, ranging from delight to amusement to astonishment. “Marry me, Annie?”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course! Before you inflict yourself on some other unfortunate lady.”
Sir Richard sweetly kissed each of Anne’s hands before retaking his seat next to her. “How was that, Georgiana?”
His cousin just shook her head as the others exploded into laughter.
* * *
The three colonels took their leave of each other before the Fitzwilliam family’s London townhouse. Darcy had arranged for the house to be opened, for Sir Richard and Colonel Denny could not remain at Darcy House while Anne was in residence. Denny would be retrieved in the morning by the Darcy party when Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson were delivered for their journey to Kent with Richard.
“Good-bye, Denny. Mind the army for me,” said Christopher. “I expect you will be a general ’ere long.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Denny, I am Brandon to you.”
“Brigadier,” cried Denny, using Brandon’s brevet title, “you will always be sir to me.” He snapped off a salute, which Christopher returned.
Marianne embraced the younger man. “May you obtain your heart’s desire, Colonel.”
“All things in God’s time,” he replied with a grin. Denny estimated that Lydia would require only six months of mourning before she would allow him to make his intentions known.
Christopher and Sir Richard shook each other’s hands. “Congrat-ulations, Fitz. I know you will be happy.”
“Thank you, Brandon. Give my love to that daughter of yours. Marianne, farewell.”
She kissed his cheek. “Until the wedding, I suppose. I am so happy for you and Anne! Safe journey.” She turned, and Brandon helped her back into the carriage.
Christopher turned back to the others, one foot in the carriage. “Good-bye, friends! Drive on, driver!”
As the carriage moved away, Marianne moved into her husband’s arms, a place she planned to spend much time in the future—perhaps the rest of her life.
“I cannot help thinking of poor Sir John. Had it been you—oh, I cannot bear it! I shall speak of it no more!”
“Hush, m’love. Do not worry. I have put in my papers. I will fight no more forever.”
“I was so proud of you yet frightened for you at the same time. I might be a coward, but I want you home in our bed, never to leave again.”
He kissed her tenderly. “I wish to be nowhere else, my Marianne,”—he started to smile—“although it will be a crowded place soon, I trust. When is the baby due?”
“Around New Years. Maybe it will be a Christmas baby.”
Christopher counted backwards. “After, I should think.”
“Perhaps. Do you think Joy will like a baby brother?”
“You do not know it will be a boy.”
“I was right about the other thing. You must trust me on this.”
Christopher gave up with an amused shake of his head. After all, she might be right. “I have but one request. If the babe is a boy, his name must be John Richard.”
She looked at his face with tears in her eyes. “Perfect—and Sir John and Caroline shall be his godparents.”
As Christopher bent to kiss her again, he murmured, “Perfect.”
There were no more sounds from the Brandon carriage as it rolled through the London night towards home and Joy.
Epilogue
The emperor stood on the deck of the Northumberland, a seventy-four-gun, third-rate ship-of-the-line, one hand holding a stay, fighting off seasickness while surveying the horizon for his new realm. He was as rigid as stone; the only movement of his body was his eyes. Three months to the day had passed since he stepped upon the deck of the HMS Bellerophon off Rochefort and into the hands of his enemies.
The officer of the deck, the ship’s second lieutenant, was at his station upon the quarterdeck, trying to keep his mind on his business. Yet, the young Englishman could not prevent his eyes from returning to the living statue. He knew all aboard had been ordered to refer to the ship’s honored guest as “Monsieur” or “General,” rather than some of the less-flattering names British tars had devised for the Destroyer of Mankind. However, the lieutenant could not think of the man as anything but the emperor.
The lieutenant wondered what the emperor was thinking. Once, this man was Emperor of the French, near-conqueror of Europe, the most dangerous and feared man in the world. Now, he was a powerless prisoner on his way to exile.
There would be no escape for him from this prison, the lieutenant reflected. Saint Helena was in the
middle of the bloody South Atlantic Ocean.
To make sure that the emperor would spend his last days there, the lords of the Admiralty had decreed that a squadron of warships should keep station off the god-forsaken piece of rock until Monsieur Bonaparte was no more.
“LAND HO!” cried the lookout.
“WHERE AWAY?” returned the lieutenant.
“TWO POINTS OFF THE STARBOARD BOW!”
A half-dozen telescopes were clapped to a half-dozen eyes, but it was useless. From the deck, the island was still below the horizon. As he lowered his instrument, the lieutenant noticed that the statue had come to life. The emperor strained to see the isle, standing on tiptoe. The officer almost handed him the telescope but thought the better of it.
Turning to a midshipman, the lieutenant said, “Give the captain my compliments and report land two points off the starboard bow.”
The youngster repeated the order and scurried below decks. Within minutes, the captain was on deck, placing his hat on his head and ignoring the salute, all the off-duty officers following in his wake.
By now, the emperor was completely still again.
“Where away?” the captain demanded.
The lieutenant pointed out the reported direction as others, mainly the emperor’s entourage, emerged from below and began to fill the decks. Patiently, the captain peered through his telescope until the island was revealed. By now, those on deck could make out the dark spot on the horizon.
Turning to the midshipman, the captain said, “My compliments to the admiral and report that we have raised Saint Helena.” The lad saluted and left.
In the minutes that followed, as the Northumberland sailed on, Saint Helena was shown to be the ugliest and most dismal rock conceivable, rising like an enormous black wart from the bowels of the deep. The emperor and all aboard watched in silence as the ship grew ever closer to the ends of the earth.
The End
Bibliography, Sources, and Suggested Reading
Austen, Jane, Pride and Prejudice
———,Sense and Sensibility
Coote, Stephen, Napoleon and the Hundred Days, 2005
The Three Colonels Page 31
