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.