Rosings Park
A miserable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam rode slowly through the town of Hunsford towards Rosings Park. As he passed the Clarke household, he barely acknowledged the wave of welcome from the inhabitants.
Such a greeting is not surprising. Thanks to me, your income just doubled, he thought with uncharitable bitterness.
Richard’s uncharacteristic bitterness sprung from his expectations for his short visit. Whitehall had been most desirous of his return to duty, and it had taken much of Lord Matlock’s influence to secure this short leave. Richard was exceedingly thankful for his father’s efforts, for he could not bear to sail to the Continent with his regiment without first taking his leave of Anne. That meant admitting his feelings for his cousin, but the earl and the viscount had chosen to be kind rather than caustic. Richard knew well his hypocrisy; he loved nothing more than to tease, but he had little tolerance for it being aimed in his direction.
Richard was melancholy enough at leaving Anne now, just as he finally knew his heart, but to face her gatekeeper again—his harridan of an aunt—after their last interview was a price painful to pay. But pay he must if he meant to say good-bye to his beloved.
Within a few minutes, he passed the parsonage and saw the Reverend Mr. Collins attending his garden.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” he cried, “how good to see you again so soon. What a pleasure it is to have the company of such an august gentleman as yourself, unselfishly serving our king…”
Richard allowed the man to prattle on. The vicar meant well, and Mrs. Collins was a good friend to Anne. Within a few minutes, the lady of the house came out to join them. “Colonel, you are welcome indeed! Please take a few moments to step inside and take your ease.”
Something in Mrs. Collins’s demeanor encouraged Richard to agree to her suggestion. Richard knew he had chosen well when Mrs. Collins declared to her husband, “Mr. Collins, what are you about? The meeting of the church lay council starts within the half hour!” She effectively shooed the man upstairs to make himself presentable before returning to their guest.
“I am glad we have these few moments to talk in private,” Mrs. Collins began. “Things have been very strained at Rosings since you left. Your orders have improved things in the village, I dare say. Even Mr. Collins will agree—in private—but Lady Catherine has been… very unhappy since your departure in February. I am afraid Miss Anne has taken the brunt of her abuse.”
Richard turned white with anger. “Is that so? Why has my father not been informed?”
“Because Miss Anne would not permit it,” came a voice from the hallway.
The two turned at the sound. Mr. Collins, wearing an unreadable expression, stood at the foot of the stairs, his cravat in his hand to be tied.
“Mr. Collins!” exclaimed his wife. “I—”
“Charlotte, you do not need to explain. I know why you sent me away.” He crossed over to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “It is I who need forgiveness. I have given far too much of my attention to our unworthy patroness and not enough to the mother of my children. I have not lived up to my own sermons. It is no wonder that you do not confide in me. I shall labor to earn your trust.”
Mrs. Collins looked upon him in absolute shock.
The tall vicar turned to Richard, clearly in shame and regret. “As I said before, I am very glad you are here. Miss Anne, who had shown such Christian condescension as to befriend my dear Charlotte, has been most unhappy. Lady Catherine, I am not pleased to report, has been very unkind to her—indeed to the whole household. Why, she even had cross words for Mrs. Collins just last week! I know I owe my situation to Lady Catherine’s benevolence, but it is dearly bought. We must pay deference to those of high rank, but… but to treat my wife no better than a servant? The daughter of a knight? It is becoming intolerable!
“I throw myself at your feet, begging for deliverance. I have attempted as Lady Catherine’s pastor, in the most respectful manner, to advise her to better behavior. I have tried to make her see the errors of her ways but to no avail. I would do more, but… you see, my family…” Mr. Collins threw up his hands in defeat. “She has made threats.”
Richard’s heart was touched. “Fear not, sir. I pledge to you that your family is in no danger. I speak for my father, the Earl of Matlock, and my cousin, Mr. Darcy, in this matter.”
To Richard’s embarrassment, tears came to the man’s eyes. “Oh, Colonel, you cannot know what a burden has been lifted from my shoulders. That you would turn your attention to such an unworthy man as myself is beyond any reward I could hope for. Speak! Ask any question; my wife and I are at your disposal.” Mr. Collins had clearly switched his allegiance to the family of Matlock.
“But your meeting, sir?” asked Richard. “I fear I am delaying you—”
Mrs. Collins rose to her feet. “I shall advise them that you are in a most important meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam, my dear,” she told her husband. She turned to Richard. “They shall understand. Your name is upon everyone’s lips as the savior of Hunsford.”
A half hour later, a better advised Richard Fitzwilliam rode to the doors of Rosings. Handing the reins to the stable hand, he ascended the steps and announced himself at the door. The butler was clearly nervous. He begged the colonel to wait upon his ladyship’s pleasure.
“Nonsense, you know who I am!” Richard declared in false good humor. “I will just let myself in. No need to bother Lady Catherine, my good man.” Richard slipped past the butler and went in search of Mrs. Parks. He found her in the empty breakfast parlor.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” she cried. “When did you arrive, sir? Are you staying long?”
“No, madam—just to have a word or two with Lady Catherine and Miss Anne, but first I would speak with you. I understand things have been difficult lately. What may I do?”
“Oh, sir, do not worry yourself on my behalf! I am well, and I will do what I can for the staff. Please, you must save your efforts for Miss Anne.”
“The Collinses have said the same. What has happened?”
“Nothing yet, but I believe Lady Catherine is planning to take Miss Anne away—to Bath.”
“That is my understanding. Why is this a concern?”
“Lady Catherine has been after her to improve herself in order to attract a suitor.”
Richard paused before the great doors of the sitting room, steeling himself for the interview to come. “You may announce me,” he said to the butler.
A moment later, he heard a voice. “You may come in, Richard.”
The colonel entered the elaborate sitting room and saw his aunt sitting in her usual chair at the far end. She gave the impression of a spider in the center of her web. A slight smile seemed to dance upon her lips.
“Ah, the savior of Hunsford returns! To what do I owe this visit, Nephew?”
“Do I need a reason to visit?”
“Do not play games with me, boy. Always I have been celebrated for my frankness of character. I expect nothing less from any of my family. Why have you returned?”
“To bid you farewell. I am off to the Continent to face Bonaparte.”
This declaration seemed to take Lady Catherine by surprise. After a silence of a few moments, she said, “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning. Is not the tyrant held captive on some small island—in the Mediterranean, perhaps? Why would you need to face him? Does he need to be arrested?”
Richard was stunned that his aunt did not know what had happened. “Bonaparte has escaped Elba. He is back in Paris, and the French king has fled. The tyrant is raising an army. Britain goes to fight him yet again.”
Lady Catherine was affronted. “Escaped? Surely someone has not done their duty. I assume it was one of those foreign types that was responsible. Such a thing would not happen if an Englishman was in charge.”
“I am sure you are correct. In any case, it falls upon those who wear the king’s uniform to set things right.”
“When do you leave?”
“The regiment sails in May.”
“Then you go with my blessing. Was there anything else?”
“I would like to speak to Anne before I go.”
“Yes,” she looked at him narrowly, “I suppose you do.”
Richard became wary. “Is she about? My time is short. I must leave soon.”
“What business do you have with my daughter?” Lady Catherine demanded.
“To take my leave of her, as I have done with you.”
“And is that all?”
“I am afraid I do not take your meaning, Aunt.”
“I am sure that you do, sir. Oh, yes—I know much more than you think.”
“I do not think I like what you are insinuating. Are you accusing me of improper behavior?”
“Is it proper to make love to my daughter under my very nose?”
“Madam!” Richard fought hard not to lose his temper. “I do not know what lies you have been told, nor do I wish to hear such vile accusations made against your daughter. Let me simply assure you that I hold Anne in the highest regard and respect, and would let nothing damage her reputation while I have breath in this body.”
“A very pretty speech. Yes, very pretty. Do you think me blind? I watched you ‘take your leave’ of Anne in February. What other liberties have you been permitted? Answer me, boy!”
“Lady Catherine, I shall not dignify that question with an answer. By God, if you were a man—” Again Richard struggled to retain control. “I have nothing to say to you about Anne at this time, except this: My intentions in matters of this kind have always been honorable. Is it your belief that I have compromised your daughter? If so, than I am prepared to do the right thing by her.” Come, Aunt, make my dreams come true.
“Oh no, you shall not have your way that easily. I know that it is Rosings Park, not Anne, that is your desire, and that you shall never have!” Lady Catherine’s temper grew into a passion.
“I care nothing for Rosings. Besides, Rosings belongs to Anne, not you—as you well know.”
“Only because of the legal chicanery of your father and uncle! But Anne is my daughter; she needs my permission to marry.”
“Anne is of legal age.”
“Anne shall do as she is told! I have already made preparations—begun inquiries. Anne will be united to a proper family, one that is worthy of a de Bourgh!”
Richard narrowed his eyes. “One that can be manipulated, as well. Such a compliant man shall be hard to find. Do you believe you will find such a person in Bath?”
His aunt sneered. “Bath—London—it matters not. I know Anne shall not travel to Derbyshire again!”
Richard looked at his aunt with as much composure as he could manage. “You would condemn your daughter to a loveless marriage just so you can hold on to Rosings?”
“Love?” Lady Catherine raged. “You speak the same foolishness as your cousin! Pemberley has been polluted forever by that… that creature Darcy married. Anne will have an estate of her own, and I shall prevent you and my hateful brother from stealing Rosings from me!”
“And if Anne refuses to cooperate?”
“She would not dare! However, if none of my candidates are suitable, Anne and I will live here comfortably for the rest of our lives.”
Richard stood in awe of his aunt’s selfish, ignorant maliciousness. One word from Anne would destroy her whole world. She was of legal age; Anne could marry anyone she chose. He wondered if his aunt was quite sane.
“I think there is nothing more we can say about this or any other matter. I will leave you now. Farewell, Aunt.” Richard turned to leave.
Lady Catherine called out, “I have not forgotten how you mistreated me when last you were here. You dare to speak to me without first offering me your apology? I am most severely displeased!”
Richard halted before the door. With one hand on the knob he said, “Do not be unhappy, my lady. With any luck, the French may solve your problem with me forever.” At that, Richard left the sitting room, closing the door behind him.
Richard stormed through the halls, trying to control his emotions, when he came upon Mrs. Parks again. She looked at him with compassion and simply said, “She is in the gardens, sir.”
With a smile, he thanked the housekeeper and dashed out the doors. Anne stood in the very same spot as in February, looking at the new buds.
“Anne!” he called as he ran to her. She, in turn, waved to him, her smile heartbreaking in its beauty. He reached her and took her hands in his. “Ah, the pretty buds of April, and here is the prettiest!”
“Oh, Richard, it is so good to see you—even if you do say such lies,” she said with joy.
To Richard’s concern, he found that he did exaggerate Anne’s looks. There were circles under her eyes, and she looked as if she had eaten ill for some time. Richard wondered just how horrible it had been for her at Rosings while he was gone.
Anne’s eyes took in her cousin. “Richard? Why do you wear your sword?”
“Do not worry about that, my dear. Let me look at you.” Quietly, he asked, “Why did you not send for me?”
“There is nothing she can do to hurt me. Are you here long?”
“No, I must leave for London soon—”
“Did you bring the coach? I did not see it.” She looked around him and saw only his horse. Anne turned back to him. “You rode?” Suddenly there was a forlorn expression in her eyes. “Richard, why are you here?”
“Anne, I—”
Realization came to her. “It is the crisis, is it not? You are going back… back to fight Bonaparte!” Unlike her mother, she had been reading the newspapers.
Gravely, Richard answered, “Yes, Anne.”
“Oh, God.” She lay her head on his chest. “When?” she whispered.
“We sail in May. I came to—I had to see you before—”
In a small breaking voice, she said, “I thought you had come back for me.”
Richard was in anguish. He took Anne’s face in his hands and stared into her eyes, memorizing every lovely feature. “Anne, there is so much I wish to say… but now is not the time. Oh, my dearest!”
Anne shook her head, her eyes swimming in tears. As her small fists began beating on him, she cried, “No, no… not now! How can you say these things to me now? Now that you are leaving me, perhaps never to return. How cruel! I cannot stand it! Leave me—let me go! Please!” She broke away from Richard and fled into the house.
Richard stood like a statue, watching her flee. Then slowly he sat on the bench behind him, removing his hat and holding his face in his hands.
Anne rushed past the housekeeper and up the stairs. She had her choice of her rooms to which to run. By very good fortune, she chose her sitting room. There she found Mrs. Jenkinson.
“My goodness!” the woman cried as she rose from her chair. “Whatever is the matter?”
Anne, her face swimming in tears, hesitated and then embraced her companion. “It… it is Richard. He is going away to France!”
“To France? Whatever for?”
“The war—Bonaparte—he goes to fight Bonaparte. He did not come for me. Good-bye—he came to say good-bye. Oh, I cannot bear it!”
Mrs. Jenkinson was distraught, but she kept her wits about her. “Oh my dear, how distressing! What you must be feeling!” She allowed Anne to weep for a few moments more before asking, “How did you leave it with the colonel?”
“W… what? Leave it?”
Mrs. Jenkinson asked sharply, “Anne, what did you do?”
“Do? I did nothing. I… I fled.”
“Oh, my girl, what are you thinking? Colonel Fitzwilliam comes here to bid you farewell—forgive me, but perhaps for the last time—and you just ran away?”
Anne’s tears stopped as she realized the extent of her blunder. Her eyes grew wide and panic-stricken.
“He goes to war, my dear,” Mrs. Jenkinson continued. “Have you any idea what he shall be going through in the weeks to come? Perhaps the only comfort he shall have will be the knowledge that those he cares for at home are thinking of him. Oh, my love, you cannot be this cruel.” She held her charge at arm’s length. “Anne—no secrets now—do you love him?”
Eyes downcast, Anne said, “With all my heart. Oh, Mrs. Jenkinson, what shall I do?”
Mrs. Jenkinson raised Anne’s head with her hand under the girl’s chin and looked into her eyes. “You must let him know.”
“Oh, where is paper?” Anne dashed for her desk.
Mrs. Jenkinson moved towards the door. “Quickly as ever you can, my dear. We will delay him.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam knew not how long he sat dejected in the garden. Finally, the sound of hooves against cobblestones brought him back to himself. He slowly rose to his feet, took one last look at the door Anne had rushed into, and turned to leave.
As he approached the front of the house, Richard saw that most of the household staff had gathered on the front steps, Mrs. Parks and Mrs. Jenkinson among them. The housekeeper approached him.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, the staff wanted to see you off as you go to serve the king in defense of the country. We wanted you to know that you have done good service here at Rosings and Hunsford and that we all shall be praying for your safe return.”
A murmur of “Hear, hear” rose among the throng. First the butler, and then others came forward to offer their hands. After accepting good wishes with as much composure as he could manage with a broken heart, Richard noted that the crowd began to part.
There at the open front door stood Anne, looking regal and beautiful—every inch a de Bourgh. Richard’s heart turned over. She walked down the steps and stopped a few feet from Richard. After giving him an imperious look, she turned to the servants.
“It is well that we do homage to Colonel Fitzwilliam. While we stay here safely at home, involved in our daily tasks, he goes across the seas to join our troops to face the tyrant of France—the monster who endangers freedom everywhere.” She turned back to Richard. “Colonel, you go to battle with our thanks and prayers. Do honor to our gracious majesty, George III, and return home safely to us. God save the King!”
“God save the King!” repeated the crowd.
“Colonel, here is an additional report from the steward. He entrusted it to me to be delivered to you personally.” Anne handed Richard an envelope. “Good-bye, Cousin, and Godspeed!” She held out her hand.
A very confused Richard gave Anne’s hand the most perfunctory of kisses before turning to mount his horse. As he did so, a shout arose from the gathered servants.
“Three cheers for Colonel Fitzwilliam!”
“HIP, HIP, HURRAH! HIP, HIP, HURRAH! HIP, HIP, HURRAH!” All cheered lustily, including Anne.
Richard awkwardly tipped his hat at the recognition and rode off, the people of Rosings waving until he was out of sight.
Richard spent the first half of his journey to London in quiet misery. He repeatedly thought about what had happened and what he might have done differently. Anne’s contrariness confounded him; one moment she embraced him, the next she ran away. Her farewell was particularly confusing. She acted as he might expect Lady Catherine to behave. Had he misjudged her feelings? No other answer occurred to him.
After about an hour while walking his horse, Richard recalled the letter from the steward. Deciding to occupy his mind with estate issues rather than romantic ones, the colonel took the letter from his inside coat pocket and opened it. To his surprise, the note had only three words written on it:
I love you.
Richard stopped his horse and stared at the note for what seemed an eternity, his mind working to believe what he saw. Finally, reality was triumphant, joy overspread his features, and a shout of glee escaped his lips. There was no doubt who had written the beautiful words; Richard knew Anne’s hand very well. All of his doubt erased, the colonel looked about him in happy confusion.
To his horse he said, “Look! You see? Ha, ha! She loves me—Anne loves me! Hurrah! Oh, the world is wonderful! Oh, I think I shall go mad with happiness!” He began to dance in front of his mount. “What shall I do? Shall I return to Rosings? Yes, I shall see my sweet Annie again, speak to my aunt—”
Richard stopped short; reality reigned. He knew he could not successfully face Lady Catherine again. What should he do? He could not return to Rosings; Lady Catherine would never give her consent. Anne would come away with him regardless, Richard was sure of it, but that would assuredly ignite war within the family now, just as he was going to France. No, that would be selfish.
But Richard knew he must respond. Anne must be told that he returned her feelings. Oh, what a brave, wonderful woman she was! To take such a chance—to risk the exposure! She must be protected. But how would he communicate with her?
He could not write to anyone at Rosings, save Lady Catherine, and there was no solution there! He thought about contacting Mrs. Parks or the steward or Mrs. Jenkinson, but that would not serve. Richard could not ask them to be part of such a conspiracy.
Another moment’s thought and Richard leapt upon his horse. He spurred his mount towards London and the one person who could help him.
The Darcy family was gathered in the sitting room when the butler announced Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Richard!” said Elizabeth. “Welcome to Darcy House. We were just sitting down to tea. Would you care to join us?”
Richard bowed to his cousins. “That would be most agreeable.”
Darcy eyed him. “You have ridden hard, I think. Perhaps something stronger than tea?”
“No, Cousin, perhaps later. Tea is just the thing to set me up.”
“I am so glad to see you again,” said Georgiana. “I thought when you took your leave of us last week we should not meet again until you returned from… well—”
“I must report to my regiment tomorrow, but tonight I have business here.” Richard smiled at his ward.
Darcy became alert. “I see. Shall we adjourn to the library then?”
“Darcy, Darcy, I did not say my business was with you. I must speak with Georgiana.” He turned to the girl. “My dear, I need your help.”
“Richard, I cannot say I like this scheme of yours,” complained Darcy.
“Why not, Brother?” asked Georgiana. “I think it is perfectly sensible. Besides, he asked me, not you.”
Darcy frowned. When he married, he had hoped that Elizabeth and her sisters would have a lively effect upon Georgiana, but not this lively. “Georgiana, I am still your guardian—”
“Yes, Husband,” injected Elizabeth, who handed Anne’s note back to Richard, “and a most reasonable one you have been,” she added with a raised eyebrow—an unmistakable signal that told him to trust her in this matter. Darcy knew there was no winning this battle, as he had learned upon previous occasions.
In any case, he thought, she is usually right.
“I will allow this… slightly improper plot,” Darcy said magnanimously, “as long it is under Mrs. Darcy’s supervision.” There—it is your fault should things go badly.
“My husband is most wise,” Elizabeth said with only the smallest twinkle in her eye. “Richard, you will give your sealed note to me. Georgiana, I am afraid I must approve of your letter to Anne prior to it being sent with Richard’s note enclosed.” Both Richard and Georgiana agreed to the conditions.
Elizabeth’s twinkle did not escape Darcy’s notice.
You shall pay for that, my love—he promised with a slight smile—tonight.
Elizabeth smiled in return, acknowledging that she guessed her husband’s plans and heartily approved of them.
Mrs. Jenkinson looked upon Anne with a sense of helplessness as her charge paced her rooms like a caged wildcat. Anne could not go out of doors—the April rains had come with a vengeance—and there was no relief downstairs with her mother’s incessant plans for Bath.
She knew her advice to Anne to reveal everything to her beloved was sound. She had half-expected Colonel Fitzwilliam to have returned by now; surely, he had read Anne’s note. Since the girl’s impulsive act of giving the colonel such a blatant, unladylike declaration of her feelings, Anne’s emotions had swung between mortification and anxiety. Anne had told her that she longed to hear from her colonel, but at the same time was frightened to know what he thought of her rash action. Everything now depended on the colonel to act in such a way as to give comfort.
It had now been three days and there was no sign of the man. Mrs. Jenkinson worried. Had they misjudged the young man?
Her ruminations ended with a knock at the door. Mrs. Jenkinson opened it to find Mrs. Parks with a letter for Anne from Georgiana Darcy. From the look on the housekeeper’s face, it was certain that Mrs. Parks felt that the only way to prevent Lady Catherine from intercepting Anne’s mail was to deliver it herself.
“Anne,” said her companion, “here is a letter for you. ’Tis from Miss Georgiana.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkinson. Please excuse me. I shall read it in my bedroom.”
“Go on, my dear,” Mrs. Jenkinson replied. To Mrs. Parks she said after Anne had left them, “Thank you, Mrs. Parks. It was good of you to bring the post directly to Miss Anne. She has been quite low these last two days.”
“’Tis no trouble. I am glad to be of service to dear Miss Anne.” She lowered her voice. “I only hope that we have not placed our trust in an unworthy gentleman.”
“I cannot believe him to be so—” Mrs. Jenkinson began.
“Hurrah!”
The two women looked in surprise at the giggling shout that came out of Anne de Bourgh’s bedroom. A few minutes later the occupant emerged, relatively composed, save for the heightened color on her cheeks.
“Mrs. Parks, there will be a letter of reply for Miss Darcy. Please see that it is posted directly.”
“Yes, miss,” responded a puzzled housekeeper.
“Mrs. Jenkinson, please excuse me, but I must see to this letter at once.”
“Of course. I will just see to dinner, shall I?” The two older women gave each other a knowing look.
As Anne reached her writing desk, she added, “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Jenkinson, please be so kind as to inform my mother that I shall not be accompanying her to Bath—not next month, nor any time in the future. Thank you, that is all.”
Mrs. Parks and Mrs. Jenkinson walked down the hall, each fighting an urge to cheer as well.