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.
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 tete-a-tete, 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—
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?”
“Very glad to make your acquaint—” began Tucker.
“Silence!” Lady Catherine shouted. “Anne, I do not know what lies they have told you, but do not believe them, I beg you!” Anne turned her head. “Anne, I am your mother! You will obey me! I am mistress of this house!”
Anne faced her mother with a look of steel. “No, you are not, Mother.
“That is not so! Brother, tell her!”
The earl turned to Anne. “As we have been explaining to you, Anne, your father left Rosings to you, with your Uncle Darcy and me as trustees—”
“No!” Lady Catherine interrupted. “Rosings is mine until she marries or I die!”
The earl turned to Mr. Tucker. “If you would be good enough to explain again, Mr. Tucker.”
“Of course, my lord. Lady Catherine, you are correct in stating the intent of Sir Lewis’s will. He did leave Rosings to your daughter, with you holding a
“Yes, yes, that is correct. What nonsense is all this? I am certainly not dead, and Anne is not married—” Horror came over Lady Catherine’s face. “Are you, Anne?”
“Aunt, please be so good as to allow Mr. Tucker to finish,” requested Darcy.
For his part, the earl almost felt guilty over the pleasure he was receiving from this experience—almost.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Tucker. “Lady Catherine, as your daughter is of legal age and of sound mind and good character, I do not think it would be particularly difficult for a court to set aside this completely ridiculous will, especially as the management of the estate has been in the hands of others for years.”
“You can try, sir!” Lady Catherine cried. “I have my own resources!”
“Yes, I am sure you do. However, that matter is moot, as Miss de Bourgh has fulfilled the requirements of the will.”
“But she is not married!”
“No, but she is betrothed.”
“
Mr. Tucker looked hard at Lady Catherine. “Miss de Bourgh is of the age of consent; therefore, your permission is moot.” He turned to Anne. “Miss de Bourgh, have you been writing letters to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?”
