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 state 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.
“We have a few decisions to make—first, where you wish to live.”
Lady Catherine gasped, but she was allowed no chance to respond.
“The dowager house is not ready, so my uncle has kindly offered his house in London for the duration. However,” she overrode an angry retort, “I have no objection to your remaining here at Rosings until Richard and I marry. Then you may decide whether to move into the dowager house or into your own residence in Town, which I would be happy to provide.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Mother: Should you choose to remain at Rosings, you must accept my supremacy. The choice is yours: live in my house or your brother’s.”
Lady Catherine gave a slight grimace. “Would I be allowed my own servants?”
“Of course.” She knelt beside the older woman and took her hands. “Mother, surely you understand why this is necessary. It was Father’s wish, and Richard and I need to start our marriage alone. Do not be concerned. You shall want for nothing.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I do love you, Mama.”
Tears sprang to Lady Catherine’s face. “Y… you have not called me that since—”
“Since you told me it was unladylike for a young woman to refer to her mother as Mama.” Anne had a wry smile.
“Well, it is. Oh, Anne, I love this house so!”
“It is just a house. Richard and I shall make it a home.” She thought to ask Lady Catherine whether she loved Sir Lewis, but she decided not to broach that subject today; they both had been through enough. “You like Richard; admit it, Mama. He was always your favorite nephew.”
“Your favorite cousin, too, I warrant. How long have you felt this way, Anne?”
“I do not know. It seems forever—years at least.”
Lady Catherine sighed bitterly. “It seems I have been trying to foist the wrong Fitzwilliam on you.” The grand dame collected herself and continued in her more familiar manner. “Well, you may have your wish. You may have Rosings. I will not challenge this ridiculous claim. I know I would eventually triumph, but not at the cost of bringing disgrace upon the de Bourgh name. You have obtained your inheritance, but it shall be recorded that it is done by my will, and not due to the chicanery of your uncle and his lawyers,” she sneered. “What else did you wish to discuss with me?”
Anne thought her mother capitulated far too easily, but as there was nothing she could do to upset the plans of her uncle and Mr. Tucker, she set that concern aside. “I shall be leaving for London. I have accepted an invitation to call upon Lady Buford, and I shall be staying at Fitzwilliam House. Are you to accompany me?”
Brussels
“Come, Buford,” urged Richard, “you must come to the First of June ball. Every officer has been invited to —— Château in Brussels for the celebration. It will improve your spirits!” Richard was worried about his friend. He knew that Buford had not received any letters from home.
“No, you go without me. I do not wish to socialize with empty-headed British expatriates who have come over to the Continent to see the fun of war.”
“Such bitterness! Buford, I know Caroline has written. Something has happened to the post. This is not the first time; you know how the army is.” Richard hoped rather than believed that Lady Buford had written her husband. He recalled his last interview with the lady; surely, there was some feeling there.
Buford looked up, trying to hide the hurt he felt in his heart. “Yes, you are right.”
“Of course, I am! So, you will come on Thursday?”
Buford sighed. “Very well.”