“Only because of the legal chicanery of your father and uncle! But Anne is
“Anne is of legal age.”
“Anne shall do as she is told! I have already made preparations—begun inquiries. Anne will be united to a proper family, one that is worthy of a de Bourgh!”
Richard narrowed his eyes. “One that can be manipulated, as well. Such a compliant man shall be hard to find. Do you believe you will find such a person in Bath?”
His aunt sneered. “Bath—London—it matters not. I know Anne shall not travel to Derbyshire again!”
Richard looked at his aunt with as much composure as he could manage. “You would condemn your daughter to a loveless marriage just so you can hold on to Rosings?”
“Love?” Lady Catherine raged. “You speak the same foolishness as your cousin! Pemberley has been polluted forever by that… that creature Darcy married. Anne will have an estate of her own, and I shall prevent you and my hateful brother from stealing Rosings from me!”
“And if Anne refuses to cooperate?”
“She would not dare! However, if none of my candidates are suitable, Anne and I will live here comfortably for the rest of our lives.”
Richard stood in awe of his aunt’s selfish, ignorant maliciousness. One word from Anne would destroy her whole world. She was of legal age; Anne could marry anyone she chose. He wondered if his aunt was quite sane.
“I think there is nothing more we can say about this or any other matter. I will leave you now. Farewell, Aunt.” Richard turned to leave.
Lady Catherine called out, “I have not forgotten how you mistreated me when last you were here. You dare to speak to me without first offering me your apology? I am most severely displeased!”
Richard halted before the door. With one hand on the knob he said, “Do not be unhappy, my lady. With any luck, the French may solve your problem with me forever.” At that, Richard left the sitting room, closing the door behind him.
Richard stormed through the halls, trying to control his emotions, when he came upon Mrs. Parks again. She looked at him with compassion and simply said, “She is in the gardens, sir.”
With a smile, he thanked the housekeeper and dashed out the doors. Anne stood in the very same spot as in February, looking at the new buds.
“Anne!” he called as he ran to her. She, in turn, waved to him, her smile heartbreaking in its beauty. He reached her and took her hands in his. “Ah, the pretty buds of April, and here is the prettiest!”
“Oh, Richard, it is so good to see you—even if you do say such lies,” she said with joy.
To Richard’s concern, he found that he did exaggerate Anne’s looks. There were circles under her eyes, and she looked as if she had eaten ill for some time. Richard wondered just how horrible it had been for her at Rosings while he was gone.
Anne’s eyes took in her cousin. “Richard? Why do you wear your sword?”
“Do not worry about that, my dear. Let me look at you.” Quietly, he asked, “Why did you not send for me?”
“There is nothing she can do to hurt me. Are you here long?”
“No, I must leave for London soon—”
“Did you bring the coach? I did not see it.” She looked around him and saw only his horse. Anne turned back to him. “You rode?” Suddenly there was a forlorn expression in her eyes. “Richard, why are you here?”
“Anne, I—”
Realization came to her. “It is the crisis, is it not? You are going back… back to fight Bonaparte!” Unlike her mother, she had been reading the newspapers.
Gravely, Richard answered, “Yes, Anne.”
“Oh, God.” She lay her head on his chest. “When?” she whispered.
“We sail in May. I came to—I had to see you before—”
In a small breaking voice, she said, “I thought you had come back for me.”
Richard was in anguish. He took Anne’s face in his hands and stared into her eyes, memorizing every lovely feature. “Anne, there is so much I wish to say… but now is not the time. Oh, my dearest!”
Anne shook her head, her eyes swimming in tears. As her small fists began beating on him, she cried, “No, no… not now! How can you say these things to me now? Now that you are leaving me, perhaps never to return. How cruel! I cannot stand it! Leave me—let me go! Please!” She broke away from Richard and fled into the house.
Richard stood like a statue, watching her flee. Then slowly he sat on the bench behind him, removing his hat and holding his face in his hands.
Anne rushed past the housekeeper and up the stairs. She had her choice of her rooms to which to run. By very good fortune, she chose her sitting room. There she found Mrs. Jenkinson.
“My goodness!” the woman cried as she rose from her chair. “Whatever is the matter?”
Anne, her face swimming in tears, hesitated and then embraced her companion. “It… it is Richard. He is going away to France!”
“To France? Whatever for?”
“The war—Bonaparte—he goes to fight Bonaparte. He did not come for me. Good-bye—he came to say good-bye. Oh, I cannot bear it!”
Mrs. Jenkinson was distraught, but she kept her wits about her. “Oh my dear, how distressing! What you must be feeling!” She allowed Anne to weep for a few moments more before asking, “How did you leave it with the colonel?”
“W… what? Leave it?”
Mrs. Jenkinson asked sharply, “Anne, what did you do?”
“Do? I did nothing. I… I fled.”
“Oh, my girl, what are you thinking? Colonel Fitzwilliam comes here to bid you farewell—forgive me, but perhaps for the last time—and you just ran away?”
Anne’s tears stopped as she realized the extent of her blunder. Her eyes grew wide and panic-stricken.
“He goes to war, my dear,” Mrs. Jenkinson continued. “Have you any idea what he shall be going through in the weeks to come? Perhaps the only comfort he shall have will be the knowledge that those he cares for at home are thinking of him. Oh, my love, you cannot be this cruel.” She held her charge at arm’s length. “Anne—no secrets now—do you love him?”
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
