The Three Colonels

Lady Catherine looked slightly affronted. “I should not describe Cleopatra as anything as ordinary as ‘medium.’ She was the proper size of a truly superior creature.”

At Richard’s puzzled expression, Mrs. Collins held up her hands indicating the size of the beast.

An officer in his majesty’s army should be quick of mind, and generally, it could be said that virtue was owned by Colonel Fitzwilliam, but that day his wits failed him. “Why, that looks to be about the size of the cat we saw today in Hunsford—would not you say so, Anne?”

In that lady’s panicked expression, Richard saw his error. His only hope was that Aunt Catherine did not closely follow his meaning.

A false hope.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, Aunt Catherine?” returned Richard, hoping to minimize the damage.

“Am I to understand that you saw a cat in Hunsford today?” she inquired.

“Yes, Aunt Catherine.”

“Anne saw the same cat?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“In Hunsford?”

“Yes.”

“Where, may I ask, did you both see a cat in Hunsford?”

Before Richard could say anything else, Anne told her mother, “At the home of Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, one of Rosings’ tenants.”

“You saw it from your carriage.”

“No, Mother—in Mrs. Clarke’s sitting room. We delivered a basket.”

Lady Catherine drew in her breath. “Anne, do you mean to say you, a de Bourgh, entered a farmer’s house? One of those dirty hovels?”

Richard cut in. “Aunt Catherine, please—”

“Silence!” the woman roared. “Well, miss, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Anne leapt to her feet. “I have nothing to say, Mother, except I was doing God’s work. And I would do it again!”

“God’s work?” Lady Catherine sneered as she rose from her chair. “Charity promotes idleness! My daughter, risking her health, paying visits to such that should be on their knees in thanksgiving that they are allowed to reside here—it is beyond everything!” She then turned on Mrs. Jenkinson. “How could you allow this? Is this how you protect your charge?”

“Mrs. Jenkinson was not there, Mother!” cried Anne. “If there must be blame, then direct it to none but me!”

“Do not speak to me in such a manner! It is not to be borne!” At that, Anne turned and fled the room. “Anne! Come back here this instant! Ungrateful child, I am not finished with you—” She began to follow Anne when her nephew stood to bar her way.

“You are finished with her, Aunt,” Richard said sternly but quietly.

“How dare you! Get out of my way—”

“No. Sit down, Aunt Catherine.” At her glare, he leaned down close to her eyes. “Please—sit—down.”

After a moment, Lady Catherine returned to her seat.

“I think quite enough has been said for one day,” Richard continued. “I will attend to Anne. Do I bring with me your apologies?”

“Apologies?” she sputtered. “It is she who owes me her apologies for forgetting the honor due her mother! You will tell her that for me, sir!”

“She does indeed owe you deference, madam, as you are her mother, but I shall not berate her or carry any demand from you for repentance on her part. Indeed, you should be proud of her. Yes, proud!” Richard said, his voice rising as Lady Catherine made to interrupt. “She was only doing right by your tenants. She was doing your duty.”

“Duty?” Lady Catherine cried. “What do you know of duty?”

“You forget yourself, madam!” the colonel of cavalry roared. “Remember to whom you are speaking! Do not dare speak to me of duty!” Richard allowed his glare to fall upon his wide-eyed aunt for a few moments more before leaving the room in pursuit of Anne.

Mr. Collins was shocked at the exchange he had just witnessed. “Oh, my dear Lady Catherine! What is wrong with the young people these days, to speak in such a manner—?”

“Oh, be silent,” said Lady Catherine.

*   *   *

Richard ran out of the house pulling on his coat, having been told by a servant that Miss de Bourgh had gone into the garden. Through the lightly falling snow, he saw a figure in a hooded cloak walking slowly towards the woods. Without wasting a moment, Richard set off at a run in pursuit of the walker.

“Anne!” he called out. “Anne!”

The figure halted but did not turn. Richard caught up and turned the person around. It was indeed Anne de Bourgh, the hood pulled down over her weeping face. Richard’s heart wrenched at the site of her tears running down her lovely cheeks.

“Anne… Anne, please do not cry—I cannot bear it! This is no place for you. Come, I insist that you come inside where you may warm yourself. You will not have to face your mother; you will be left in peace. I swear it.”

Anne looked up at her cousin. Richard was mesmerized by the lady’s lips, so soft and inviting. He could think of nothing else but to kiss those lips, that nose, those tears. The realization then hit him like a thunderbolt.

He was in love with Anne de Bourgh.

For a full minute the two stood in the lightly blowing afternoon snow, the gentleman holding the lady by the shoulders, each looking the other full in the face, not knowing how the other felt, neither saying what was in their heart.

A sudden gust of wind hit the pair, bringing them to their senses and breaking the tableaux.

“I believe you are right—we should go indoors,” said the lady.

The gentleman nodded and held out his arm. Silently the pair returned to the house.

Chapter 11

Richard sat in his room that night, nursing a brandy and cursing himself. After he saw Anne into the house, Mrs. Jenkinson spirited his cousin to her rooms to get warm before Richard could say anything. But what could he say? How could he declare himself after insulting the lady’s mother?

Instead, he retired to his room and immediately penned an offer to quit Rosings immediately and give up his office as advisor on estate matters. There was no hint of any remorse in his note for his words to his aunt; Richard felt none, and he would stand by those words for the rest of his life. He now sat and morosely waited for his aunt’s response; he did not doubt that the grand lady would accept his resignation.

Richard was a competitive man. All his life, he strove to win, and it pained him to his bones to lose. His drive had kept him alive on the battlefield, but now he knew he had failed. His ungovernable temper had let down his family and cost him the woman he had unwittingly wanted all his life.

He could see that now. All the years he had been coming to Rosings, it was always to see Anne—to show her some kindness and attention, to ease her life. When had affection grown into something more? Richard could not name the date or time; it had grown slowly. He knew his feelings had blossomed in concert with Anne’s own blossoming in recent years. And now, when Richard finally knew what he desired, he had thrown it all away.

Richard chuckled to himself. He could envision the scene: him standing, hat in hand, before his imperious aunt. “Lady Catherine, I formally request your permission to court your daughter, Miss de Bourgh, for the purpose of matrimony.” He wondered if she would laugh before she had him thrown out the door.