by Blake Smith
Now he looked deep into her eyes. “It is my dearest hope that you would not find it a burden. I would like nothing more than to make you happy; to see you in any sort of distress is heart-breaking to me.” He smiled gently. “I am not overly nice in my habits; I keep regular hours; when I have guests to dinner, they are well-mannered and do not attempt to wreck the house.”
Anne laughed at his description, from surprise as much as from amusement. “Dear Mr. Jeffries,” she said, smiling. “That is all to my taste, and perhaps more importantly, I think I could be very happy with you.”
There was a slight pause. He was looking at her with an expression of pure wonder. “You’ll have me?” he asked, his voice a bare whisper.
She nodded.
“Thank God,” he said in relief. “I’d hoped you would, but I couldn’t be sure.” He was smiling again, and reached out to embrace her. She came willingly, and smiled against his shoulder. “I don’t think any lady knows how difficult it is for a man to offer for her hand,” he said. “Even though I thought you would accept me, I could hardly get the words out. Thank goodness you understood me even so.”
“You are not so difficult to understand as you think you are,” Anne teased gently. She drew back and gently touched his face. “All that is required is that I listen, and I’m very good at that.”
He laughed at that. “So you are.”
***
They could not sit still; after such a conversation, movement was necessary. So they walked about, examining the keep and talking about every subject under the sun. Anne discovered a few shards of pottery- nothing like the coin Mr. Jeffries had found, but enough to be contented with.
Their future marriage was of course the subject of much discussion. Mr. Jeffries wished to make her known to his aunt and uncle- he was sure they would love her, and they would be reassured that he was going to be happily settled. Anne was not so sure of her ability to attach Sir William and Lady Jeffries, but she agreed that it was proper to meet them.
“And I will write to my mother,” she said dutifully, “but I must make it clear that I do not require her consent.”
Mr. Jeffries thought this was reasonable. “And perhaps your cousin can assist you in finding a solicitor, if you do not already have one. We must have a settlement, to protect you.” He smiled at her look of momentary confusion. “At the moment, your fortune is greater than mine; I would not wish for anyone to say I married you for your money.”
“People do that all of the time,” Anne reminded him.
“But I am not those people. I love you, not your money, and I want everyone to know it,” he said lightly, then looked up. “I believe I see Mr. Darcy’s carriage; shall we rejoin the others.”
“Very well. We have the rest of our lives to talk of marriage and money.”
Anne’s happiness was slightly marred as they walked toward the carriage. Mr. Darcy met them halfway. He was alone, and his fearsome frown struck fear into Anne’s heart. Surely, after all he had done to defend her from Lady Catherine’s attempt to force her into marriage, he could not deny her the right to choose Mr. Jeffries?
Don’t be such a goose, she scolded herself. He may see that you are happy, but he has no certain knowledge of Mr. Jeffries’ offer. But then his expression must be due to some other troubling news. What could it be?
Everyone greeted each other, then Anne said, “Is something amiss? You look rather grim.”
“That is because I have some rather grim news,” he said, “though not as grim as it could have been. Sir Henry Thornton is not who he claims to be.”
Anne stared for a long moment. An imposter? But how, and- perhaps more importantly- why? “Who is he?”
“I have no idea. But the real Sir Henry Thornton died in Calcutta two years ago.”
Anne was stunned into silence, and grasped Mr. Jeffries’ arm for support. He patted her hand and looked about. “Let us find you a seat, Anne. There.” Thank heavens, some wonderful soul had placed a bench alongside the path.
Slowly and with help, Anne was able to sit. By that time, she had regained enough of her equilibrium to question Mr. Darcy more minutely. “How did you come to know of this?”
“The day after the ball, I wrote to my solicitor regarding some other business, and mentioned Sir Henry’s name. I received a rather confused and surprised reply, as Mr. Aylesby is also the solicitor of the Thornton family, knew that the real Sir Henry had died, and was attempting to find the rightful heir to his property.”
“And there’s no chance it was a mistake?”
“None. When the real Sir Henry died, they took a death mask. Mr. Aylesby has seen it, and confirmed that the dead man was his client.”
Anne shook her head in disbelief. Mr. Jeffries patted her hand. “It is fortunate you were not taken in,” he said.
“But I was,” she admitted. “I didn’t like that man, but I had no idea he was such a villain. How wicked of him,” she murmured.
Though she fully believed Mr. Darcy’s information, the news was shocking, and she must sit and think on it for a time. The two men, seeing her need for reflection, did not press her, but talked quietly together.
“He should be taken in and questioned,” Mr. Jeffries said. “Even if he did not kill Sir Henry, I’d like to know who he is and how he came to steal another man’s name.”
“I’ve already written to Bow Street, and to the local magistrates,” Mr. Darcy said. “They’ll see justice done.”
Anne looked up. “Will you tell my mother? Not to flaunt a victory over her, but I imagine she still allows the imposter to come to Number Twelve, and I do not want to see her harmed by him.”
“I will tell her,” Mr. Darcy said, nodding. “All is in hand.”
“Thank you.” She rose. “May I counter your grim news with something more pleasant?”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes gleamed. He must know, but all he said was, “Certainly. I could use a bit of good news.”
Anne’s hand crept into Mr. Jeffries’, and he clasped it firmly as he said, “I have offered my hand and my heart to Miss de Bourgh. She has accepted me.”
Mr. Darcy smiled at this confirmation. “I congratulate you both. And you are not frightened away by this nonsense with Lady Catherine?”
“Certainly not. It is Anne I want.”
Mr. Darcy looked down at Anne. “And is it what you want?”
She nodded. “Yes, very much so.”
“Then I wish you every happiness.” He looked around them. “The others are approaching. Shall you tell them, or shall I?”
Anne exchanged a glance with her love. “We shall tell them,” they said together.
And so they did.
The End.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for joining Anne on her journey. She and Mr. Jeffries quickly settled into married life and lived happily ever after, undisturbed by the false Sir Henry, who found no welcome in polite society once his scheme was discovered, and returned to live in exile in India.
Lady Catherine was surprised to discover that she had been so imposed upon, and though her gratitude was not immediately apparent to any of her acquaintance, she was eventually thankful to Mr. Darcy and Mr. Jeffries for their care of her daughter.
Anne found that Lady Catherine was much easier to love when they lived apart, and mother and daughter grew closer as the years passed, though they found that a fortnight was the perfect length of time to visit, no more and no less.
I am so pleased that you found A Summer in Scarborough to your liking. Please visit my author page to find my other works in historical fiction, regency romance, fantasy, and space opera. And don’t forget to leave a review on the website from which you purchased this book. I hope to see you again.
Sincerely,
Blake Smith
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