From Admiration to Matrimony

by APRIL FLOYD

  Lady Anne’s eyes focused on a place beyond Elizabeth and Anne as the story poured forth. “I was to wed a young man before I knew my beloved George. He was a friend to George in their younger years before Catty inserted herself so terribly between us all.”

  Her voice faltered for but a moment but the great woman of Pemberley cleared her throat and continued.

  “My young man was visiting Pemberley, along with his family and several more, including our own. The men had been shooting and the ladies stayed behind to attend a grand luncheon picnic beside the lake. It was a lovely day and Pemberley was a jewel then as it is now.”

  Anne leaned closer to her aunt and sent a worried look to Elizabeth. She wished to hear the truth but feared the knowledge. Her mother had never spoken of her youth nor seemed particularly fond of her sister. Lady Anne’s voice pierced her thoughts and she felt the world spin before her as the story unfolded.

  “To spare you the sordid details, Catty was compromised by my young man the next morning as our father and mother caught her leaving his room in nothing more than her shift.”

  Elizabeth gasped and went to sit on the other side of Lady Anne. “How could she? And what became of the young man?”

  Lady Anne turned to Elizabeth, her eyes sad, the unshed tears glistening at the edge of her lashes. “I was devastated, but not surprised, by Catty’s behavior. The young man married her and they had but one child. Catty married Sir Lewis de Bourgh and I was left broken and shamed.”

  Anne stood slowly and wrapped her arms about herself. She trembled as a lonely leaf on a barren tree, the tears coming without warning. “You ought to have been my mother,” she whispered as Lady Anne stood to embrace her.

  Elizabeth rose and walked blindly to a window facing out onto the gardens, her mind reeling from the betrayal and pain visited upon Lady Anne at so young an age. And her sister had named her only child for her! The depth of Lady Catherine’s treachery shocked her. They could not allow Anne to leave now. Anne’s words cut through her heart like a mortal wound.

  “I shall make her pay for her treachery, I swear it. She will regret calling me home.”

  A day later, Elizabeth tearfully made her farewell to Anne de Bourgh. “You must write to me, dearest Anne. I want you to know all that transpires at Pemberley, no matter how small or mundane.”

  Anne swallowed her own tears at leaving the comfort and peace of Pemberley. She had come to know a different life with Lady Anne and the Darcys and she fought to hide her fear at returning to Rosings. She would stand here again, she promised herself, and she would make her mother pay.

  A young maid from Pemberley stepped forward to accompany her at Lady Anne’s request and the weather was agreeable. She smiled at Elizabeth and forced her tone to appear happier than she felt.

  “I shall not forget our promise, Lizzy, for you know Rosings to be quite different from Pemberley. There shall be little to keep me from writing. I hope to keep the maid busy walking the grounds with me so that I may look to the sky and know it is the same above us now. I can imagine you walking here at Pemberley with Aunt or your sisters.”

  Elizabeth nodded and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She would not say more for fear she might ruin their parting. Anne would not be swayed from her mission.

  Lady Anne embraced her niece as Henry Amestrey stood ready to help Anne into his carriage. He would see her safely home to Rosings and then return her to Pemberley to become his bride once her mother was well.

  Anne’s sweet smile faded from view as the carriage rolled away and Lady Anne took Elizabeth’s arm to lead her back inside. “We must focus on her wedding now, my dear. She shall return to us in due time.”

  Elizabeth knew Lady Anne’s words to be true and yet she could not shake the fear she held in her heart. Lady Catherine, whether ill or well, would not miss the opportunity to make Anne pay for her defection and Anne’s determination to best her mother would not be denied. A war would be waged at Rosings.

  But Henry would stand beside Anne and the maid from Pemberley would be loyal to her appointed mistress. And if there came a hint of distress from her beloved friend, she would hasten to Rosings for Anne herself.

  Only a day before, Caroline Bingley had left London, quite pleased to become the guest of Lady Catherine de Bourgh at Rosings in Kent.

  She was unsure of why the Lady had invited her for a visit, she was said to be in poor health, but idling about in a home as impressive as Rosings Park might provide a measure of amusement and gossip to share when she returned home.

  And, to have received the invitation from the lady herself lent an air of respectability and support she sorely needed since one Fitzwilliam Darcy had married that infuriating chit from Hertfordshire.

  Chapter 22

  Elizabeth glanced to her husband from her end of the dining table, her eyes alight with mischief although her younger sisters had embarrassed Lady Anne upon several occasions before the final course was served. Their delight in having the two young gentlemen from the ball as dinner guests brought about much merriment and earned them reproving glances from Mr. Darcy’s mother.

  Once dinner was done, Darcy herded the men to the library for a much needed respite from the young women.

  Elizabeth led the ladies to the parlor, her arm linked with Lady Anne, and cut a quieting stare at Lydia and Kitty. “The gentlemen will be along soon and we must appear calm, ladies. Quiet conversation and cards will suffice for the evening.”

  Lydia and Kitty veritably skipped into the parlor but Lady Anne made a noise in her throat causing both young ladies to slow their pace. Elizabeth was certain had their mother remained at Brambling House with the Bingleys, the girls might have been able to control their childish glee.

  As it was, Mrs. Bennet began to expound upon the wealth of the two young gentlemen her daughters had chosen. Elizabeth wished she might find an excuse to call her mother from the room before the men came to sit with them.

  Her stomach turned as Mrs. Bennet continued her chatter and she touched her forehead finding it had become warm. She glanced to Lady Anne and winked, a small smile for the lady fading as she turned to her mother. “Mother, would you see me to my rooms? I believe I ought to lie down for a time.”

  Mrs. Bennet glanced at Elizabeth but continued her instruction to Lydia and Kitty on how they might interest their suitors who were now engaged in conversation with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet in the library.

  Jane took her mother’s hand and smiled. “Mother, Lizzy is unwell. Please see her to her room so that she might rest.”

  Mrs. Bennet could not refuse her eldest daughter and turned to address Lady Anne. The woman had been watching Mrs. Bennet’s display, wishing she would take Elizabeth’s hint. With the foolish woman out of the way, Kitty and Lydia might find themselves well matched.

  Lady Anne nodded at Mrs. Bennet, ignoring the words of excuse the woman gave, eager to see her leave the parlor. She would take the girls in hand and the evening would proceed quite nicely.

  In the library, Mr. Darcy watched Mr. Bennet as he chatted amiably with the two young men from the ball. Being the father of the young women in question, Mr. Bennet was only behaving in the customary fashion. The decisions regarding marriage, should it come to that, would lie with Mr. Darcy.

  He had already taken it upon himself to investigate the suitors and found them both beyond reproach and wagered the youngest of the Bennet sisters would be quite fortunate should offers be made.

  He wondered how he might help mend the relationship between his wife and her father, for his Elizabeth tossed and turned in her sleep waking often with mumbling words of her father upon her lips. Now was not the time, not whilst they sought to settle the younger daughters and see them happily married.

  Once Kitty and Lydia’s futures were settled, he would see to the needs of his wife concerning her parents. They were to stay until Spring but he had no need of them to wander the halls of Pemberley did they not please Elizabeth with their presence.
The week in which they’d gone to Brambling had been a restorative of sorts for his bride, she’d slept better, ate better, and the bloom in her cheeks had returned.

  When the men were ready to join the ladies in the parlor, he was given word that Elizabeth had retired upstairs with her mother. He urged Mr. Bennet to follow him to Elizabeth’s rooms. “I had thought to wait until later for such a meeting, but we might see to it now. Come along, sir. My mother shall chaperone the young ladies in the parlor for a time.”

  Elizabeth sat in the small sitting room adjoining her bedroom and listened patiently as her mother opined on the perfect beauty of Kitty and Lydia and how they must receive offers that very evening. Elizabeth would not intervene in her mother’s dreams, though she hoped her sisters might receive offers of marriage but cared not whether it was this evening or another.

  She raised her head as first Mr. Darcy entered and then Mr. Bennet. There was no mistake, she must now face her parents with her husband by her side.

  Mr. Bennet nodded at Elizabeth and sat beside his wife, taking her hand and quieting her words. “My dear, we must speak with Elizabeth. The time has come.”

  Mrs. Bennet, unhappy at the turn of events, glanced away when Mr. Bennet spoke softly to his favorite child.

  Elizabeth waited for Mr. Darcy to come sit beside her for his quiet strength leant her confidence. “Father, mother, how odd to meet you here. Tis for the best as we should not be interrupted.”

  Mr. Bennet gazed at Elizabeth, the glow about her causing him to soften his plea. “Lizzy, my dearest one, you must know how deeply sorry I am for all that happened after the Netherfield ball. I would never have allowed Mr. Collins near your person did I know the depths of his wickedness. I have learned that he cares for nothing more than the approval of his patroness. Could you forgive me, in time, for my error?”

  Elizabeth had leaned against Mr. Darcy as her father spoke, drawing from his own courage and the comfort of his hand upon her aching back.

  She turned her gaze at her mother, hoping to find the same humility her father had shown but finding only the same silly woman as ever.

  Mrs. Bennet fanned herself and barely concealed her wish to return to the parlor below for the support of Kitty and Lydia in their pursuit of the wealthy young men.

  Elizabeth knew in her heart the relationship with her mother was one that would not change, could never, because of the woman’s lack of concern. To her mind, Elizabeth ought to have married the parson and done so without her customary habit of melodrama.

  She looked to Mr. Darcy and whispered. He escorted Mrs. Bennet from the room with a nod to Mr. Bennet.

  After they had gone, Elizabeth went to sit beside her father, the hope shining in her eyes piercing his heart. He appeared ten years older in the candlelight of her sitting room and Elizabeth wished only to embrace him and forgive all that had passed.

  Mr. Bennet took her hand and kissed it gently, the tears he’d sworn to hold back rushing forth. “My Lizzy, is this a dream or have you opened your heart to me once more?”

  Elizabeth leaned against him, comforted by his solid form, and kissed his cheek wondering how they’d remained at odds for so long.

  “Papa, you must never recommend husbands for your daughters again. I believe should you leave that to Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet remained in her sitting room as the evening deepened. Confessions passed between them but before he rose to leave, Elizabeth’s heart lifted at their reunion.

  She might never forget his part in her abduction by Mr. Collins, but they were resolved to begin their precious relationship anew.

  Chapter 23

  The journey from Pemberley to Rosings with Henry by her side steeled Anne for what would surely be a miserable visit with her mother.

  Lady Anne’s tale haunted her at night when they stopped at inns along the way and her dreams were filled with memories from her childhood of a cold mother and a distant father.

  She thought of each visit Lady Anne had made to Rosings, the love that shone in her eyes for her children, her manner of speaking gently to them, and her habit of doting upon them. Anne knew this was not the way of her own mother and Lady Catherine’s coldness stung her quite deeply.

  She sighed and took Henry’s hand to climb aboard the carriage for another day of travel. His presence had made all the difference and she hoped he might remain at Rosings for a few days after their arrival. He’d warned her he must attend to business in London from time to time, but he would always return to her when he was able.

  The maid from Pemberley would be a balm against her mother’s certain tirades when Henry must leave. She’d been by Anne’s side since her arrival at the Darcy estate and was as close to a friend as a servant might be, far closer than any of the maids at Rosings.

  Henry sat beside her in the carriage and spoke to her of the countryside they traveled. His family home was situated between Pemberley and Rosings and he promised they would visit his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Ayr, before their trip ended. In a day or so, she would walk the gardens with him and put Rosings out of her mind.

  As the carriage hurried along, she thought once more of Elizabeth and the babe she and William would welcome. In her heart, she vowed to return to Pemberley before the happy event.

  At Rosings, Caroline Bingley sat alone in the breakfast parlor. She had arrived only the day before to find Lady Catherine well pleased she had accepted the invitation. The woman had sat with her for an hour before retiring to her rooms and Caroline had been grateful to be free of her haughty manner.

  She recalled a particular moment that gave her pause on the acceptance of the invitation. Lady Catherine had appraised her dress, her manners, and her lack of a husband after several seasons in London.

  “Miss Bingley, would you say you care not to marry or have you waited perhaps a moment too long to catch a man? Heaven knows, the competition in Town grows ever stronger.”

  Caroline had resisted using her sharp tongue on her hostess for fear of offending the woman but smiled sweetly and nodded. “I am guilty of believing in an unrequited love, your ladyship. I have removed the hope from my heart and begun to open my eyes to other possibilities for a happy life.”

  Lady Catherine had seemed pleased at her answer and Caroline was left even more curious at her invitation to visit Rosings.

  She stood and crossed to the parlor, wondering if she must spend the whole of this visit wandering along about the house. Lady Catherine had never appeared to be one who might lie abed late into the morning, but the woman must have weakened since she had last seen her amongst the Darcys in London many years ago.

  And where might her daughter Anne de Bourgh be found? Caroline had thought her time would be spent with the only daughter of Rosings whom she’d met at Darcy House in London but the one time.

  She was a quiet, slip of a girl then and Caroline doubted they would find a bond. At least, she might prove a more pleasant companion than her mother.

  Losing interest in the lonely parlor, Caroline decided a walk about the garden would be a lovely distraction and called for her bonnet and spencer.

  Stepping out upon the great stone steps of the home, she drew in a breath at the chill in the air and set her feet toward the garden path. Rosings was a lovely estate, rivaled only by Pemberley in her mind. A frown creased her brow at the thought of the Darcy home in Derbyshire and she kicked at the gravel path beneath her slippered feet.

  She’d had little news of the family since her brother and his wife rarely wrote of them owing to her intense dislike of Elizabeth Bennet Darcy. To think of the impertinent woman as Darcy’s wife galled her. She crossed her arms in a pique of temper and increased her pace so that when she nearly knocked over another young woman on the path, she startled and let out a cry.

  Charlotte Collins had tried to avoid Caroline Bingley but the woman had simply rounded the corner so quickly it was nigh on impossible.

  “I am so sorry. Please do forgive my i
nattention,” she said as she attempted to steady Caroline on the path. Her polite apology was met with a scowl and her hands pushed away.

  “Who might you be wandering about the gardens of Rosings? I doubt Lady Catherine would take kindly to her servants strolling about the grounds and placing their hands upon her guests.”

  Charlotte lowered her gaze as her face reddened. “I am the wife of Lady Catherine’s parson, ma’am. Begging your pardon.”

  Caroline made an awful face and turned on her heel to escape the company of the mousy, quiet woman. There was no sport in tormenting the help.

  Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and followed in Caroline Bingley’s wake. She had word from her husband that Lady Catherine was feeling poorly and hoped to offer the woman a bit of comfort if she might.

  Caroline halted abruptly and Charlotte very nearly bumped into her once more. “Pray tell, why are you following me? I have no desire for your company. I would much prefer to stroll with Miss de Bourgh.”

  Charlotte smiled at this bit of information and happily informed the lady of Miss de Bourgh’s coming arrival. “I am afraid you shall have to wait, Miss Bingley…”

  “How do you know my name?” Caroline snapped though her eyes were alight with interest at Charlotte’s words.

  “Miss Bingley, we met in Hertfordshire when your brother let Netherfield Park. My father is Sir William Lucas and my best friend, Elizabeth, lived at Brambling Hall with your brother and his wife, who is her eldest sister, before she married Mr. Darcy.”

  Caroline winced at the name and stomped a foot. “Please do not speak that name in my presence!”

  It seemed she had called the ghost of Elizabeth Darcy here to Rosings Park with her thoughts of the woman only moments ago.