* * *

Anne sent Jackson to talk to Lord Fitzwilliam’s man, and after waiting thirty minutes, Gregg appeared, but only to say that Lord Fitzwilliam would not be dining at all today as he had a terrific headache.

“I did not ask him to dine. Gregg, tell your master he should be prepared to receive his cousin in one half hour.”

When Anne went into Lord Fitzwilliam’s apartment, she found him with a wet cloth over his eyes. She believed him when he said he had a pounding headache. Except for a glass or two of diluted port, he had little to drink since his arrival, and he was experiencing the unpleasant side effects of a quick withdrawal from alcohol.

Pointing to a letter on the table, he said, “I have already dictated a letter of apology to Miss Bingley. I find her incredibly irritating, but I was rude to a guest of my host. Fortunately, Darcy did not hear or he would have shown me the door.”

“She is still here. Would you not want to tell her in person?”

“I can’t, Anne. I truly can’t. My nerves are stretched to the breaking point. I am greatly in need of a glass of wine, but I will not have it. Seeing Georgiana reminded me that I have two daughters who will come out into society in a few short years. I do not want to embarrass them. So I will remain at Pemberley until I am sober, and, hopefully, that will become a permanent condition.”

“I want you to come to Rosings with me.” Silence. “You haven’t been to Rosings in years.”

“There is a reason for that. Your mother lives there.”

“You will not see as much of her as you think. She retires early. You get up late. If you took up riding again, you would be out of doors for most of the day. Besides, everyone is leaving, and you will not want to stay here by yourself.”

“Everyone is leaving? Surely my behavior was not so objectionable that the guests are running for the nearest exit.”

“Will had to return to London and left at dawn. Georgiana needs to prepare for her debut, and, frankly, I am tired and in need of a rest.” Anne was in need of more than a rest. She was exhausted, and Mrs. Jenkinson was urging her to return to Rosings, especially since her mistress was taking drafts of laudanum to help her sleep.

“I actually would prefer to be in Kent,” Antony said after thinking it over for a few moments. “My daughters are with my mother in Ashford, and I could go visit them.”

Through all of this, Antony kept the cloth across his eyes, but Anne lifted it, so she might kiss his forehead, and her cousin took her hand and gently squeezed it. He loved this fragile woman more than he could say.

“You tell me Darcy is already gone? Damn! I had a message for him. An old friend of his from his time in France, the former Christina Caxton, is in London and wanted to visit with him.”

“Where is she staying?”

“With Mrs. Conway. Apparently, the late Mr. Caxton was a supporter of Whig causes, and since Darcy is of a like mind, I am sure that is how they met.”

“I do not know Mrs. Caxton, and at the moment, he has a lot to think about. But I shall break my journey in London, and I shall tell him. Visiting with an old friend might be exactly what he needs.”

Chapter 44

The picnic went much better than expected largely due to the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam and the absence of Lord Fitzwilliam. Richard was so successful in diverting Caroline’s attention that Georgiana was beginning to wonder if there was more to it than just amusing a difficult guest. He had recently discussed with Will the possibility of selling his commission. But the only way he could leave the army was if he found a rich wife, and Caroline Bingley was very rich.

With Richard and Caroline engrossed in conversation, she turned her attention to the Hursts. But as soon as they had finished their lunch, Mr. Hurst found a comfortable spot under a tree and quickly fell asleep. As this was nothing out of the norm, Mrs. Hurst joined Caroline in conversing with the colonel. Compared to her calculating sister, Louisa was the most uncomplicated woman Georgiana had ever met.

Because Anne had decided to stay at the house to humor Antony, Charles and Georgiana found themselves looking to each other for company. With so much on their minds, neither had much to say.

Georgiana was thinking about how much her life had changed simply because she had reached her eighteenth birthday. Before leaving London, she had received a letter from Mrs. Reynolds with her recommendations as to which room each guest would use. Upon her arrival at Pemberley, she had to meet with Mrs. Bradshaw to go over the menus. A wise person never challenged Cook as she had been at Pemberley for more than twenty years and ran her own little fiefdom belowstairs. All these consultations were mere formalities because the servants were more capable than she in running the house, but they would not proceed without the master’s or mistress’s consent. But Georgiana did not want to discuss replacing linen with Mrs. Reynolds nor menus with Mrs. Bradshaw. She wanted to share with someone the excitement she was feeling about her upcoming debut and her dreams for the future as she had done with Elizabeth Bennet.

Following their ride to the Peak, Georgiana had shared with Elizabeth that she was penning a novel. Unlike her brother, Lizzy did not frown, but showed real interest in her story.

“The novel is about Pompeii at the time Mt. Vesuvius erupted. I have changed it a good deal since I started. Actually, I change it all the time. Thoughts keep popping into my head, and then I go in a new direction. Anyway, it is about two lovers who are kept apart because of their different places in society. Just when it seems as if they have surmounted all obstacles in their path, another woman enters the picture who is determined to keep them apart because she wants the man for herself, although he does not love her, which is evident to everyone except her. It is just at that time the volcano erupts, with its rivers of lava and suffocating gases, and ash and people running about willy-nilly. Amidst this chaos, the lovers must find each other. At first, I thought I should have the woman who interferes in their romance overtaken by the lava flow, but that seemed a bit harsh, even though she is not likable at all.”

Lizzy could hardly imagine who she was talking about. Although Georgiana was only three years younger than she, the difference in their ages seemed greater, probably because the daughters of society’s elite tended to live sheltered existences until they married. If Georgiana was typical of her class, she would have been coddled by nurses before being turned over to governesses and tutors and piano and dance masters, all in preparation for that first season where, it was hoped, she would find a husband from among the aristocracy or landed gentry. But there was something different about Georgiana. She had a bit of the rebel in her.

“Has anyone read your writings?” Lizzy had asked.

“Oh, no! Will does not approve of women writing novels because he says it degrades them, but I see nothing degrading in it. Frances Burney was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, and Maria Edgeworth’s novels all have a moral to share. But I am not without hope as he is the first to admit that society is undergoing great changes. I just hope it undergoes them fast enough for them to benefit me.” Elizabeth had encouraged her to keep writing and asked if she might read it when she had finished the first draft.

“I would be honored if you would read my humble manuscript.”

Georgiana liked Elizabeth for many reasons, but she particularly admired how feisty she was. She had been greatly surprised when Elizabeth had talked back to Will at the stables. She had never seen anyone argue with her brother, and from their exchange, it was apparent that was not the first time they had engaged in an animated discussion. And from watching the two of them standing on the promontory, she was quite sure that his love was no longer unrequited. But now there was this horrible business with Lydia Bennet, and she was unsure what Will would do because it involved George Wickham. But there was no time to dwell on anything other than her obligations as mistress of Pemberley, and so she had to think about supper and that evening’s entertainment and not about Caroline Bingley fleeing for her life in a burning Pompeii.

* * *

When Anne went into Lord Fitzwilliam’s apartment, he was sitting in the same chair but without the cloth across his eyes, and he had color back in his cheeks.

“Gregg, why don’t you go to the kitchen and have some lunch,” Anne suggested. “I wish to speak to Lord Fitzwilliam.”

“Whatever it is, I did not do it, Anne. I have not been out of the room. Have I, Gregg?”

“No, Milord. You have been here since Miss de Bourgh’s last visit.”

“I have even been nice to you, Gregg, haven’t I?”

“Exceptionally so, Milord.”

“No need for sarcasm, Gregg, but do go and have something to eat.”

After his servant left, Anne said, “You do know that man is worth his weight in gold.”

“Which is about what I owe him in wages. I have encouraged him to find another position, but he tells me he enjoys the excitement and unpredictability of serving me.”

Looking around the room, Anne could see that she had interrupted Gregg’s packing her cousin’s clothes. “Antony, are you leaving Pemberley?”

“Yes. I am returning to town in the morning.”

“But I thought it was not safe for you to be in London because Mr. Lynton had challenged you to a duel.”