Richard sat in his room that night, nursing a brandy and cursing himself. After he saw Anne into the house, Mrs. Jenkinson spirited his cousin to her rooms to get warm before Richard could say anything. But what could he say? How could he declare himself after insulting the lady’s mother?
Instead, he retired to his room and immediately penned an offer to quit Rosings immediately and give up his office as advisor on estate matters. There was no hint of any remorse in his note for his words to his aunt; Richard felt none, and he would stand by those words for the rest of his life. He now sat and morosely waited for his aunt’s response; he did not doubt that the grand lady would accept his resignation.
Richard was a competitive man. All his life, he strove to win, and it pained him to his bones to lose. His drive had kept him alive on the battlefield, but now he knew he had failed. His ungovernable temper had let down his family and cost him the woman he had unwittingly wanted all his life.
He could see that now. All the years he had been coming to Rosings, it was always to see Anne—to show her some kindness and attention, to ease her life. When had affection grown into something more? Richard could not name the date or time; it had grown slowly. He knew his feelings had blossomed in concert with Anne’s own blossoming in recent years. And now, when Richard finally knew what he desired, he had thrown it all away.
Richard chuckled to himself. He could envision the scene: him standing, hat in hand, before his imperious aunt. “Lady Catherine, I formally request your permission to court your daughter, Miss de Bourgh, for the purpose of matrimony.” He wondered if she would laugh before she had him thrown out the door.
Richard knew Anne’s mind; she would never go against her mother’s wishes. Of course, he was assuming the lady felt the same about him. She did not want Darcy. Why would she want poor Richard Fitzwilliam, a second son with little income aside from his pay from the crown? Perhaps it was not so much the idea of a union with Darcy that displeased Anne as it was the whole concept of marriage to a cousin. Richard’s thoughts grew ever bleaker as he sipped his drink before the fire.
Finally, the expected knock came. Slowly, Richard rose, crossed to the door, and opened it to behold the butler with a note on a silver tray. Richard took the note, thanked the butler, and closed the door. He walked over to the back of his chair, looking at the name on the cover: Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. As there was no profit in postponing the inevitable, he broke the seal and began to read.
Colonel Fitzwilliam,
I have received your note offering to resign your office here at Rosings. While your apology was not clearly laid out, I must assume that you meant to do so by your offer of resignation. I am pleased that you admit your fault, though it was done in such an obscure manner.
Your offer of resignation is not accepted. I expect, as a member of the Fitzwilliam family, you shall see to your duties as usual in the morning.
Yours, etc…
Richard stared at the note for some time, not quite believing the words therein. Had it not been for the haughty manner of the writing, he certainly would have suspected a forgery. Finally, he fell into the chair he had vacated, the note hanging from his fingertips.
For some reason Richard could not fathom, Aunt Catherine had chosen to view his letter as an apology so that Richard could remain to complete his task as Rosings. The colonel did not hold the belief that affection for his person had stayed the lady’s hand.
No, he knew that something else was at work here. It would be a while before he could find sleep.
Anne came downstairs the next morning, not knowing whom she dreaded seeing more, her mother or her cousin. Seeing neither in the breakfast room, Anne sought out the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Parks, has either my mother or Colonel Fitzwilliam been down to breakfast?”
“No, miss,” replied Mrs. Parks. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has had nothing but a cup of tea; he has been in the library with the steward this last hour. Your mother is having her breakfast upstairs. Shall I fix a plate for you, miss?”
“Just a little something—perhaps toast with jam,” said a surprised yet relieved Anne. “I am to meet Mrs. Collins for a stroll very soon.” As Anne ate her light breakfast, she could not prevent her eyes from straying to the door of the library down the hall. Knowing Richard was there unsettled her. She left her breakfast half eaten and prepared to go on her walk.
Anne was soon among the trees in the grove. The air, while still chilly, had moderated from yesterday’s cold, and the snow was already half melted. Spring is in the air, Anne thought when she heard Charlotte calling her name. The two friends soon met and continued to walk amongst the trees.
“How are you today, Anne?” began Charlotte.
“Much better, I thank you. I have not sneezed once.”
Charlotte eyed her companion. “Anne, as happy as I am to hear you in good health, I believe you know I was not inquiring about your sneezing.” At Anne’s continued hesitation, Charlotte declared, “Forgive me, Anne. It was not my intention to pry.”
Anne stopped and turned to the other woman. “Oh, I do not believe that was your intention. You are concerned for me, I know. It… it is just that—oh, you will think me foolish!”
“My dear, please share your burden with me.”
“Mother upset me greatly yesterday.”
“Yes, we were all witness to her abominable behavior towards you.” Charlotte lowered her voice. “May I tell you a secret? Even Mr. Collins was upset with Lady Catherine.”
“You are joking!” Anne gasped. “Mr. Collins?”
“You could not be more astonished than I. He was troubled that his esteemed patroness would show the bad manners to publicly berate ‘the district’s finest flower’ for doing her Christian duty.” Charlotte added with a smile, “Though he only admitted it to me after we were safely in our bedroom where the servants could not overhear.” Both women giggled. “But, Anne,” Charlotte continued after the laughter died down, “there is more to your melancholy than your mother. Might it have something to do with a certain officer?”
Anne whirled to her friend. “How? How did you know?”
“Oh, Anne, I have known it for some time.”
“Why have you not spoken of it before?” Anne then paled. “Do you think anyone else knows?”
“Mrs. Jenkinson might suspect,” Charlotte considered. “Elizabeth, as well—”
“Elizabeth!”
“Georgiana… Mr. Darcy, too—they can keep nothing from him.”
Anne put both hands to her face. “Oh, no!”
Charlotte took her friend’s hands into her own. “Fear not, Anne. It is certain that your mother suspects nothing. No one who would inform Lady Catherine of your feelings toward Colonel Fitzwilliam has the slightest idea as to your inclinations. Your secret is safe.” Anne’s face could not hide her relief. “Safe even from your love.”
Anne turned away. “Then everything is well—” she began to say when she heard a snort of frustration from her companion.
“Not again!” Charlotte cried to the heavens. “Three years ago only I saw what was happening between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. I said nothing, and look at the pain it caused!”
Anne was amazed at Charlotte’s outburst. “What pain? Did something happen while they were here that spring?”
“Never mind; it is not my tale to tell. In any case, all ended well. But I shall not stand idly by again.” Charlotte took Anne by the shoulders. “My dear friend, believe me when I say that Colonel Fitzwilliam is in love with you!”
“No, it cannot be,” said Anne. “You are wrong—”
“Anne, I have watched the both of you. To my eyes, it is as obvious as the sun!” Charlotte tried another approach. “Anne, will you admit to feelings for the colonel?”
Anne blushed, her eyes firmly planted on the ground.
“Anne?”
“Yes,” said Anne in a small voice.
“You love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you not want him to return your love, or do you believe that you are not worthy of him?” Charlotte frowned. “For it is my opinion that he is not worthy of you!”
“How can you say that?” cried Anne. “Richard is the best of men!”
“Bah! A few medals, surviving Bonaparte—what is that compared to what you have endured your entire life? If he is such a great man, why has it taken him so long to know his own mind?”
“I… I do not understand.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam has been in love with you for about as long as you have been in love with him. It is true! Only, you have admitted to the truth of your heart’s desire and for a very long time, have you not? If Mr. Darcy had followed his aunt’s demands and asked for your hand, you would have refused him, is that not so?”
Anne nodded.
Charlotte continued. “But the colonel has only this week realized his true feelings for you. I watched him at the Clarkes’ and as he defended you against Lady Catherine. Believe me; he is violently in love with you.”
Anne’s mind rebelled at the words of her friend. For so long when she was ill, she felt unable to love—unworthy of being loved. Now that she was improved, why did she continue to feel that way?
Charlotte’s eyes bore into hers. “Do not let your mother poison you against happiness.”
Anne’s head snapped up, and tears began to run down her face.
Charlotte, distressed, embraced the young woman. “Oh, Anne, forgive me!”
As Charlotte hugged Anne, a thought cut through the jumbled thoughts of the heiress: Richard—yesterday—that look in his eyes. I thought he was going to kiss me.
Anne broke the embrace and looked at Charlotte with a dawning smile on her face. “He wanted to kiss me.”
“What?”
“He wanted to kiss me.”
Charlotte was puzzled. “Who wanted to kiss you?”
“Richard, silly! It was in his eyes. I saw it. He wanted to kiss me!”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “When?”
“In the snow!” Anne was downright giddy now.
“When were you in the snow?”
“Yesterday! After we fought with Mother. He came after me and wanted to kiss me in the snow!” Anne broke free and did a pirouette, laughing the whole time. “Hurrah!”
Charlotte watched in open-mouthed shock at her friend’s exhibition. Anne then grasped Charlotte, giggling.
“Oh, Charlotte, you are right! He does love me!” Unable to resist, Charlotte began to giggle, too. “He… he wanted to kiss me! He must want to marry me! Marry me! Oh, Charlotte, I have never been so happy!” The women hugged again in laughter and tears.
Suddenly, Anne pulled away and looked Charlotte in the face. “What do I do now?”
Anne’s confused expression quickly sobered Charlotte. With a slight smile, she looked at her companion and said, “You must let the colonel know that his attentions are welcomed.”
“But… how do I do that?”
Charlotte sighed. “You will find a way, my dear.”
Upon the steward leaving the library, Richard stood and stretched to relieve the stiffness in his back. As his back was to the door, he was surprised to hear a voice.
“May I come in?”
Richard assumed a more proper pose and turned towards his visitor. “Yes, Mrs. Parks, do come in. Please, have a seat.” Richard waited until the housekeeper was comfortable. “Now, madam, how may I be of service to you?”
“I understand you wish to speak to me,” she replied.
“Yes, I do. I would like to speak with you about the household. As you may know, I am empowered to look into all aspects of the management of Rosings Park. Your cooperation in this endeavor is vital.”
She handed him a packet of papers. “I have here the current household budget as well as the current accounts with the shopkeepers in Hunsford.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Parks.” Richard set the packet aside. “I shall review them in a moment. Now as for the staff here—”
“You will find a roster of all employees of the house in that packet along with their backgrounds and dates of hire.”
Richard walked behind the desk to take his seat. “I have already seen the reports of the tenants and the groundskeepers here at Rosings, but I cannot find your employment agreement or that of the steward.” He gestured at the stacks of papers.
Mrs. Parks unsuccessfully hid her slight smirk. “You will not find them in there, sir. The mistress had them burned, you see, but it does not signify. The solicitor has got the originals.”
Richard took a moment to digest this information. Why would Aunt Catherine do that? Did she mean to sack both of them; if so, why were they still here?
“Ahem… it must be a trial, I suppose, to work here. My aunt can be rather capricious, I must admit. Your loyalty serves you well.”
Mrs. Parks looked at him strangely. “As I said before—I very much enjoy my position here. Do you have any questions about that, sir?”
Richard became flustered. Dratted woman! He did not know what to make of her! “Well… I… umm… the uncertainty! I mean, there has been quite a turnover among the household staff here. I must admit I am surprised that you are still—well, to put it plainly, I am shocked that my aunt has not yet run you off!”
Mrs. Parks’s expression became one of surprise. “Forgive me, sir; I had assumed you were better informed. I see now that you are operating under a mistaken understanding.” Her eyes shifted to the window. “Though how you could have been sent here without being fully prepared! What a muddle—”
“Mrs. Parks,” Richard cut in. “I insist you make plain your meaning.”
The housekeeper returned her full attention to Richard. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, neither my situation nor that of the steward is dependent upon the goodwill of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. We are both employed by your father, the Earl of Matlock, and have been so for over fifteen years.”