Jack Caldwell - The Three Colonels

“What?”

Richard quickly explained his plan. “The harvest last season was too small to pay the rent and fill the farmers’ larders. They chose to be honest men and paid their due. They have put their families at risk of hunger if not outright starvation. It is time we did right by them.” Lady Catherine was too shocked to speak, so Richard continued. “I have instructed the steward to put in place my reforms and readjustments. For those who comply, there will be a rent holiday of one year, subject to review upon this fall’s harvest.”

Anne saw the justice in Richard’s plan, but she expected her mother would prove hard to persuade. Lady Catherine did not disappoint.

“Are you saying there will be no rents this year?” Lady Catherine was finally able to squeak.

“I have reviewed your financial position. You have been frugal and have put money aside. With economy in the household and personal accounts, you will hardly notice the inconvenience, while strengthening the farming abilities of your lands. This will not go unnoticed by the people. All Hunsford will know of your generosity. By sharing their pain, you will win their hearts. Your name will be celebrated in the village square—”

“Thief!” Lady Catherine screamed. “Thief! You steal my money to give to that… that rabble! How could you do this to your family? Are you lost to all duty and honor? There is a viper in my house!”

“Mother!” cried Anne.

Richard tried to reason with her. “Madam, people will starve if we do not act.”

“What do I care for that scum?” she spat. “They live in squalor, breeding their beggars, thieves, and whores! If they starve, it is God’s judgment on them! And you wish to accommodate their sin!” She jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction and declared, “You are a traitor to your class!”

Anne was astonished by her mother’s open vindictiveness. She looked at the others seated at the table. Richard was shocked silent, and Mrs. Jenkinson was ghostly pale.

“You will rescind your instructions at once!” Lady Catherine demanded, wagging her forefinger in the air. “Do you hear me? At once!”

Richard rose from the table. “No, Aunt, I will not.”

“Do you defy me? It is not to be borne! You will not gainsay me. I shall stop your evil!”

Anne watched Richard respond to Lady Catherine’s ravings with calm determination. “You may try, madam, but the steward will accept instructions only from me.”

“No! I see it now! You are trying to steal Rosings from me!”

“Madam!”

“Silence! I know your twisted mind! You are in league with my brother—he is behind this! But I will stand for it no more! Out! Get out of my house this instant!”

There was a terrible stillness in the dining hall as the echo of Lady Catherine’s demand faded. Without a word, a pale Richard gave his aunt a cold, polite bow and left the room.

Anne got up to follow her lover.

“Where are you going, miss?” demanded her mother.

Through her tears, Anne replied, “I care not, so long as it is away from this table. I am ashamed of you!”

With that, Anne fled the room, heedless of Lady Catherine’s demands for her return.

Ten minutes later, a grim Richard stood by the door to his bedroom, watching his valet toss all his belongings unfolded into the trunk. He hated leaving Anne, but there was nothing for it. Lady Catherine had absolutely refused to see justice in his solutions to the crisis at Rosings, and he could stand her insults and wild accusations no more. At least his departure would give Anne some peace and quiet. As for himself, he would know no peace until he met with his father and devised a plan to save Rosings and protect his Anne.

His valet’s task done, Richard opened the door to find Anne waiting without. He paused, searching for reproach in her fine eyes, but only found love and regret. Silently, the two unacknowledged lovers briefly embraced in the hall before heading downstairs, hand in hand, the valet carrying the trunk behind. Richard signaled that the valet continue to the coach, while he left Anne to go into the library.

Minutes later he emerged, a large packet of papers in his hand. Richard took Anne’s hand with his free hand, bowed farewell to Mrs. Parks, and exited the house with his beloved.

Richard halted before the coach. He handed the packet to the valet and turned to Anne.

“Richard!” she cried. “Take me with you!”

Slowly and sadly, the colonel shook his head. Taking both of Anne’s hands in his, he looked intently at her. “Anne, I wish many things right now. I wish I could speak, but now is not the time. I cannot take you with me; you must remain. But do not despair!” He paused and then continued, slowly and deliberately, “As God is my witness, I shall return for you.”

He stared at Anne until she nodded in acknowledgment.

“I do not believe you have anything to fear from your mother; her malice is reserved for me. However, should you require assistance, write to the earl, and I or another will come at once. Will you do that if the need arises? Promise me, Anne.”

Anne nodded again.

His eyes softened. “Until we meet again, my dear girl.”

With that, he kissed her hands and then turned them over to touch his lips softly to each of her palms. With one last, longing look into her shattered face, he leapt into the carriage and was off.

Anne stood at the foot of the steps, as still as death, watching the coach until it disappeared in the darkness.

Observing the whole scene from the parlor window behind her was Lady Catherine.

Vienna

“Are you almost ready, my lady?” asked Sofia.

She will be ready when I am done, you Hessian hussy! thought Abigail, her annoyance with the Austrian interloper renewed at the sound of the girl’s heavily accented English. Abigail was personal maid to Lady Buford and by rights should have been equal in rank with the housekeeper in the hierarchy of the Buford household. However, as Frau Lippermann only spoke German, Abigail was forced to share her position with this Teutonic troublemaker. The maid did not need a translator to know that Sofia despised both Lady Buford and her.

Abigail looked at her mistress in the mirror and saw that she too was exasperated with Sofia’s superior ways. There was only one person’s opinion that counted with Abigail. “My lady, is your hair satisfactory?”

“I am delighted. Thank you, Abby. The necklace, please, and then we are away.” Caroline was nervous but steeled herself not to direct her anxiety to Abigail. Sofia, however, was another matter.

Abigail stood back to admire her mistress. The deep crimson dress, dyed to match Sir John’s sash, showed her pale complexion to good effect, and the feathers in her hair were smaller than usual. “You look lovely, my lady, if I may say so.”

Caroline smiled slightly at the maid’s compliment. “Thank you, Abby.” The two of them had developed a friendship of sorts in the last weeks, brought together by their mutual loathing of Sofia. “Come, Sofia; we must not keep Sir John waiting.”

The Austrian maid mumbled something in German; to Caroline’s ears, it sounded slightly insulting. If only she could speak German, she would put the impertinent baggage in her place!

Caroline discovered Sir John in the parlor, splendid in his full-dress, blue Dragoon uniform, sabre at his side, cape rakishly thrown over one shoulder. Caroline tried to remember to breathe as a chill went down her back. The look in Sir John’s piercing blue eyes screamed that he wanted Caroline in their bed—now. For her part, Caroline was very agreeable to the unspoken suggestion. All the irritation she had felt over her husband’s inattention to her domestic difficulties vanished for the time being. The two looked at each other with pure desire until Roberts cleared his throat.

“Uh… sir, my lady, it is time to leave.”

The Embassy Ball, hosted by Lady Beatrice, would begin within the hour, and Lady Buford was to assist the hostess. Without a word, Sir John offered his wife his arm, and they sailed out to the waiting coach with Sofia trailing behind.

Sofia babbled in the coach as the party moved through the late afternoon streets of Vienna. “It is vise for you to take me along vith you, Sir John. I know my vay around Vienna very vell as I vas raised here.”

Caroline barely heard the girl; she was too concerned over her duties that evening. Soon, the carriage drew before the Schönbrunn Palace, and the Buford party made their way inside.

“Sofia,” Lady Buford said after they entered the building, “report to Lady Beatrice’s secretary. She will assign you your duties.” She did not notice that Sofia had mumbled something under her breath.

Caroline and Sir John continued into the main ballroom, where they were greeted by the duke and his cousin as well as the other members of the British delegation.

Caroline’s tension had eased somewhat, for the other ladies of the delegation had, on the whole, proved to be pleasant and gracious. There were at least two with whom Caroline was desirous of becoming better acquainted, and they seemed to welcome the newcomer into their sphere. The ladies went off to see to the final preparations in good spirits.

Within an hour, the ballroom was filled with the height of Viennese society. Never had Caroline seen such finery and jewels, having never been presented at court. Not that it would have mattered; European fashion made the London scene look dowdy by comparison. She and Sir John were making the rounds when she heard someone calling her husband.