Anne watched her mother rant on in silence. Why was she doing this? What was the reason for her determination? She was almost desperate. Was it just her feelings of betrayal at the hands of her uncle?

“…and a house of your own, a great estate, that is what you are destined for, Anne! Just follow my lead—”

Anne interrupted. “Are you saying that if I do this—go with you to Bath—you will reinstate Mrs. Jenkinson?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Anne started to laugh.

“What do you find so amusing?” Lady Catherine asked in a dangerous voice.

“You, Mother! Do you believe this is the Dark Ages? You would blackmail me, your only daughter, into marriage to some rich, landed fool? You think the only price you will pay is the wages for my companion? How did you grow so corrupted?”

“How dare you—”

“Silence, Mother! Your schemes are not to be borne! Let us have a right understanding between us, madam. I will never go to Bath with you. The day Mrs. Jenkinson leaves this house is the day I do. You have a choice before you—suffer my companion or lose both of us.”

“Where would you go, child?” shouted Lady Catherine. “To the streets, I suppose?”

“No, to my uncle,” Anne said, as if explaining to a child.

The result was unexpected; Lady Catherine went pale. “N… no, that will not be necessary!” She halted and worked to get control of her emotions. “I had not realized how… how attached you have become to your companion. Far be it from me to cause you any pain. Please let Mrs. Jenkinson know that her services shall be welcomed here for as long as you wish.”

She paused and then, incredibly, began to beg. “Do not turn your back upon me, dear Anne. I could not bear it. I do know what is proper for you, but we shall not speak of it now. Let us consider each other’s view and talk again another day. Come, give your mother a kiss.”

Anne looked wide-eyed at her mother. As she bent to kiss Lady Catherine’s cheek, she could only wonder if her mother had finally gone mad.

“Thank you, my dear. Shall I see you for dinner, then?” Lady Catherine turned back to her letters.

Anne only wanted to leave the room at that instant to sort her own raging thoughts. “Yes, Mother—until then.” Anne left the room with as much composure as she could muster.

Within a few minutes, she was sitting in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room again. Her friend was overjoyed at news of her reprieve.

“Oh, thank you, my dear. That was such a brave thing for you to do. But I do not wish to be a source of disagreement between you and your mother,” the older lady said. “But it is so strange! That her ladyship would give in so quickly! I do not see the cause of it.”

“Neither do I, but I think I may know someone who does.”

*   *   *

London


Caroline was finishing her weekly letter to her husband. She wrote of family doings, news from society, and the latest events caused by her changing physique. Three months along now, her morning sickness had finally stopped—that was the good news. The strange cravings for odd foods puzzled Caroline intensely. She was assured by all her female relations that it was perfectly normal, but it still made no sense to her. She wrote of it anyway, thinking Sir John would find her predicament amusing.

Caroline had received no other letters from her husband after the one in late April. She told herself not to worry; he was undoubtedly busy with all the things that soldiers do—whatever that might be. He had warned her, after all. Besides, it was her duty to write—to brighten his day and lighten his cares. Caroline was surprised at the contentment she felt at giving rather than taking.

It had been decided that Caroline would remain in London for the duration of her confinement. She had no wish to go to a Welsh physician she did not know for this first child of hers. Also, London was closer to Belgium; surely her letters would get there faster.

Godspeed you to Antwerp, she thought as she kissed the letter.

*   *   *

Brussels


“Good ride, gentlemen!” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam to his regiment as he dismounted. “Enjoy your evening. We shall ride tomorrow at nine.”

Richard gave the reins to a private, patted his horse, and began walking into his guesthouse. He had not gone but a few yards before he beheld Major General Sir John Vandeleur and the Earl of Uxbridge, his commanding officers, arriving on horseback. Coming to attention, Richard fired off a salute.

“Your regiment looks very good, Fitzwilliam,” Uxbridge congratulated him as he lazily returned the gesture.

“They will do, sir.” Fitzwilliam knew it had been some time since they last saw action in Spain.

“Veterans—wish we had more, eh, your lordship?” said Vandeleur.

“The heavies will do their job, never fear,” replied Uxbridge. “Carry on, Fitzwilliam.”

“Good work, Colonel. I will inspect your regiment the day after tomorrow,” said Vandeleur as he and Uxbridge rode away. Richard continued his walk towards the guesthouse. There he found Buford waiting in the dining room.

“How was today, Buford?” Richard asked as he took his seat.

“No troubles—the regiment is a bit rusty, but they are coming along. You?”

“The same. Oh, thank you,” Richard told the innkeeper, who had just handed him a letter.

“Go ahead, open your letter,” said Buford as casually as he could.

Richard slipped Georgiana’s letter into his coat pocket. “No, I will just read this later,” he said with a cat-got-the-cream grin.

Buford sipped his wine to hide his agitation. Why does Caroline not write?

Chapter 21

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?”