After the other man had left, Truman returned to his bed. His roommate still snored. They had another two hours before they were expected to awake and little could be accomplished until daylight, so instead, Truman waited. The regrets he had struggled to push away moments ago swirled in his mind, threatening to pull him in a spiralling vortex.
Two hours later, Mr. Andrews yawned as he got out of bed. “You’re already dressed?”
“Aye. I got bad news in the middle of the night. It seems instead of going with Colonel Fitzwilliam to Chester, I will be asking for leave to go to Leeds.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Family?”
“Aye. All that I have left in the world ill and on their deathbeds. Will you see to the Colonel today? He will probably make do with his host’s footman or without once he leaves.”
“Of course. My sympathies. I’ll not detain you,” Andrews said, and Truman readied for his journey.
Having no time to speak with Richard directly, he jotted a few lines for Andrews to deliver later, knowing Richard would clear it through the appropriate channels. Then, Truman caught the mail coach to Leeds, all the while wishing it had wings.
A little over a day later, he arrived at his childhood home, bone weary and unkempt. As he walked up to the place, it seemed both larger and smaller than he remembered. The old housekeeper was still there and showed him to a spare room to freshen up while Letty was called down from their father’s chamber. He met her in the drawing room.
“You made it faster than I thought,” she said while clutching a handkerchief near her red-rimmed eyes.
“I left at first light. How are you?”
He approached, and she fell into his arms, sobbing. As he attempted to comfort his sister, now little more than a stranger to him, he was angry anew at himself for leaving her to oversee everything. At length, she calmed.
“The doctor thinks Papa will survive,” she whispered.
“And the others? Your boys and husband?”
Letty shook her head. “Jake is very weak but Harry and my dear Mr. Johnson…”
More crying ensued. “Letty, I do not know what to say. I cannot imagine the sorrow of losing a beloved spouse or children. How can I help you? Give me a task.”
His words brought no comfort to his sister. He was not a man made for idleness, however, and he mentally made lists of matters to consider while he allowed her to pour out her tears. She quieted, at last, and he realised she had cried herself to sleep on him. His cravat drenched in her tears. Not wanting to wake her, he sat patiently with his arms around her, even as fatigue clawed at his own body and a desire to see his father gnawed at him.
Eventually, the housekeeper appeared with tea and refreshments, followed by a pretty young woman, Truman immediately recognised. “Sally—beg pardon, Miss Johnson. I would bow for you, but you see I am otherwise engaged.”
“Jake—Mr. Truman. She knew you would come. Oh, it will mean the world to her to be able to divide her burdens.”
“Come, sit,” he said. “Tell me how the shop is. In Letty’s message, she said your brother was watching it?”
“Yes, your father and Matthew were teaching him. It is too much for him to handle the whole store for long, however. The girls and I have been assisting.”
“You all are well? An illness like this I expected many others to be sick.”
“The doctor thinks it came from their visit to Scarborough. They visited the docks.”
“Letty did not go?”
“No…”
Truman did not like how the woman trailed off. “What is it?”
“Her condition required she rest, so she stayed at the Inn while the others had gone out. The doctor is worried that she has pushed herself too hard with caring for everyone, and she may lose the babe.”
Truman closed his eyes in pain. His sister had been through enough.
“How long can you stay?” Sally asked him.
“I am uncertain. I am batman to the colonel of my Regiment, and the rest are returning from Spain any day now. However, he was to meet with his superiors on some matter in Chester this very day.”
“I thought your conscription was close to an end?”
“I am the King’s man until the very last day. Colonel Fitzwilliam will do everything he can for me, I have no doubt.”
Sally nodded her head and Truman could see her quick mind working matters out. “I would suggest you call on Old Man Greenwell. Although retired, he is well-respected and can assist arranging help with some of the other stores.”
“If it is so simple why did Letty not go?”
“He won’t deal with women.”
Truman frowned. Greenwell was a bright man who ran a good shop but had old fashioned ideals about ladies. He looked down at his sister. “I’m going to take her up to a room to sleep. Can you help?”
“Of course,” Sally said and followed him upstairs.
“I’ll let you get her comfortable. Thanks for your help.”
Truman sketched a bow and heard her call after him. “It is so good to have you back.”
He let her comment pass without reply. Was he back? He did not think he could leave for Canada now.
After leaving his sister in the care of her friend, Truman went to his father’s room. He saw him sleeping fitfully, with medicinal paraphernalia all around.
“I’m here, Pa,” he said as he sat in a chair next to his father’s bed.
The housekeeper came in. “You ought to sleep,” she frowned at him. His mother died when he was a child, and the housekeeper became his surrogate mother.
“I’ll stay. You go rest. You’ve done enough.”
In between caring for his father, wiping his brow with cool water intermittently and providing doses of tonic when his coughs were severe, Truman managed to rest. All the while, his father did not recognise him.
*****
Anne looked around the ornate dining room at her home. All her life, she had seldom stirred from these walls. She knew every gilt gold detail, exactly how many paces it was from the drawing room to the library and dozens of other useless pieces of information. This evening, she dined alone with her mother and Mrs. Jenkinson. Thankfully, Mr. Collins had returned to Hertfordshire to court his bride. It was the only thing that marked, to Anne, this day as a celebration of her birth.
“Mother, what do you think of going to Bath after Christmas?”
“Bath? Whatever for?”
“I had thought a holiday might be nice.”
“Bath is too congested this time of year for you,” her mother declared. The tone meant discussion on the topic was over, but Anne did not intend to quit so easily tonight.
“What about Ramsgate or Margate?”
“Oh, no. I hate overnight stays in Inns.”
“Brighton is only half a day’s drive.”
“There is no reason to visit the coast in winter.”
“I desire to travel, Mother,” Anne said with an uncharacteristic hard edge to her voice.
Lady Catherine glared at her daughter. “That is no way to show respect for your mother.”
Anne dropped her fork. “I am seven and twenty, Mother. I have been of age for quite some time and should have some say in my life.”
“And so you shall when you marry.”
Anne stood and pushed her chair back, the thick carpet muffling the sound of its scrape against the floor. “And what if I never marry?”
“Do not be ridiculous, child.”
“Excuse me,” Anne said and left the room.
Once in her bed chamber, Anne pulled out old diaries filled with flights of fancy of a young mind. Her mother’s insistence that she would one day marry, as though a suitor would appear out of thin air, would not tear at Anne’s heart so much if it had not been exactly what she always wished. From a tender age, Anne had imagined herself as a wife and mother. She never fixated on one of her cousins, as her mother was wont to do, but something about the idea of making a cheerful home and bei
ng surrounded by laughing children comforted her lonely heart. She would, at last, be loved and would never be like her mother.
She tossed the journals aside in disgust. So many years of her life she had wasted merely dreaming when she ought to have taken life by the horns.
A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Jenkinson entered. “I wished to see if you were well.”
“I am perfectly well,” Anne said through clenched teeth and a false smile. She still lived with her governess of all things!
“I do not need to tell you that your mother is displeased,” the old woman said.
“No, you do not.”
“Mend your anger, tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” She could be as stubborn as anyone with Fitzwilliam blood.
“Then I wish you good night. Happy birthday, my dear. I often have to remind myself that you are not my little charge still.” The woman said with real affection in her voice and guilt pricked Anne’s conscience.
“I am sorry I am in such a foul temper.” Mrs. Jenkinson seemed pleased by the words. “All shall be better tomorrow. Good night.”
Mrs. Jenkinson nodded and left. Anne waited for her maid to appear and after she was finally alone for the night, she ran into her dressing room. Pulling out a sturdy valise, she began filling it with articles. The mere necessities, she assumed. She had rarely travelled before. She counted the money in her coin purse, knowing it was all she would have access to until London. She reckoned she had enough for the stage.
Anne would ride to London and then throw herself on the compassion of her aunt and uncle. Darcy and Georgiana might be in Town by then. Between Pemberley and Matlock estates, they ought to have plenty of space for her. They would let her live. Not for the first time, she was envious at the relative nearness of the two estates in neighbouring counties compared to Rosings’ virtual exile in Kent.
Anne would leave at first light and arrive in Hunsford before anyone noticed her absence. Yes, it would all work out. Deciding that she would have time to read in the carriage, she tossed a book from her desk into the valise. A letter from her Aunt Matlock fluttered down as well. Recalling its contents, her plans for freedom vanished.
Her aunt had written that the Matlocks intended to leave for their estate for Christmas on the morrow. Richard had been called to Chester but would join them there later. Darcy and James remained in Hertfordshire. Even if Anne felt brave enough to ride stage all the way to Matlock Hall, she did not have the money. She doubted she had enough to get to Hertfordshire and certainly knew better than to throw herself on her cousins’ host.
Anne cast a look around her room. She had packed in a fit of anger like a child. Leaving like this would do more harm than good. If she wanted to be treated like a mature adult, she would need to act like one even in this instance. She could arrange to travel and visit her family without stealing away at dawn.
Taking a calming breath, Anne went to her desk and withdrew writing instruments. She had requested to travel after Christmas, surely she could wait until then. Her aunt and uncle always returned to London when Parliament resumed. She had just as much right to the carriages and horses as her mother. She would write her aunt and request to visit then make appropriate arrangements with the staff.
As she went to her bed, Anne, at last, felt she had some determination over her life. If all went well, she would be on her way to London around Twelfth Night. She had waited seven and twenty long years for freedom, she could handle a few more weeks.
Chapter Nine
Belinda scanned the drawing room of Lady Jersey’s soiree.
“Are you looking for someone?” Lady Crenshaw asked.
“This is the fifth engagement we have gone to this week where I have not seen Lord or Lady Matlock.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow and Belinda could have died from being so transparent. “They have returned to Yorkshire for the Holiday, as they usually do. They shall return when Parliament resumes.”
“Oh,” Belinda said lamely and felt like a ton of bricks landed on her chest. “And…their son is with them?”
“I believe Lord Arlington remains in Hertfordshire with his cousins,” her mother said with an indulgent smile.
Oh! She was enjoying this far too much. “And the Colonel?” Despite herself, a blush betrayed Belinda’s anxiety for information.
“Louisa sent word that he had been called to Chester and would likely not join them at home until close to Christmas Day.”
“Chester? Why is he needed there?”
“Some meeting with his superior officers. General Vyse is combining it with a house party to last through the holidays.”
Belinda frowned. She knew of Miss Vyse: nineteen, a flirt, and she had a fortune of twenty-five thousand pounds. Belinda had feared the three weeks’ separation between now and mid-January would be enough to lessen Richard’s interest in her, but a fortnight spent in the company of Miss Vyse might kill it stone dead. Suddenly, she realised she could not bear such a tragedy.
“Of course, if you are so eager to see Lady Matlock again, I could accept her invitation.”
“Invitation?” Belinda no longer cared that her voice raised with eagerness.
“We have been invited to Matlock for Christmas. I had a mind to decline. I did not think you would wish to go.”
“The holidays with our friends would be most delightful!” Belinda blushed and lowered her voice. “I mean, they are such dear friends to you and father. You must consider my feelings last. I will happily follow wherever you wish to go.”
Dinner was called, and Belinda was lead in by Lady Jersey’s nephew, allowing her to nearly miss the look of triumph on Lady Crenshaw’s face. Belinda’s dinner partner talked most of the meal, but she lost interest sometime after he mentioned cravat knots and Brummell. For the first time in her life, Belinda allowed herself to consider an immediate future: Christmas with the Matlocks, and even hoped for something further out: a marriage with a man she loved.
*****
The Netherfield Party returned from a ball at Sir William Lucas’ house tired and in various spirits. Bingley had proposed to Jane Bennet and could not stop speaking of his “angel.” There was gossip that Darcy would offer for Elizabeth Bennet, which he did intend to do, but Darcy and Arlington both feared the gossip came from Wickham. Arlington was rather certain on the morrow Darcy planned to not only explain to Elizabeth about Wickham but also propose.
Perhaps it was the repeated nudges from his mother and father, the fact that it would assist his political career, or simply the fact that he was suddenly, and for once, the only unattached man in the house, but Arlington rather thought to make the leap himself. As the others went to their chambers, exhausted from the evening's recreation, Caroline lingered and gave orders to the housekeeper about the morrow. Accomplished, hard-working, shrewd, and handsome. Her fortune would prove worthwhile, and her background was the sort that always appealed to him. She would make a fine Countess one day, in the hopefully distant future. At least sufficient enough for a man that never wanted to be an earl. Surely the earldom had seen worse. Their blood was not nearly as blue as most peers.
Finished with her tasks for the evening, Caroline, at last, went toward the stairs. She startled to see him waiting at the bottom. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
“I am merely overtired,” she said.
“Allow me,” Arlington offered his arm, and he began escorting her to her room. “You are unhappy with the evening?”
“No. I have made my peace with Charles marrying into the Bennets. It seems like Darcy will wed Eliza, so I can no longer continue to claim they are too low for him, can I?”
Arlington chuckled. “Indeed not. It seemed to me, though, that you were finding a better footing with them.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I am smart enough to know when a fight is useless.” They reached her door, and she released his arm. “I will wish you a good night.”
Smiling, he withdrew a piece of mistlet
oe from his pocket. “Kiss me and it will be,” he said with his most roguish smile.
“Lord Arlington!”
Caroline blushed pink but did not sweep away into her room. He framed his arms against the door, and she looked into his eyes. She looked like she was quite willing to accept his kiss, curious even. Arlington was leaning forward to meet her lips when a sound in the hall interrupted him. As he pulled away, Caroline let out a breath.
“Maybe tomorrow night will be better,” he said with a wink and left her. He had never been so forward with a single, well-bred lady before. It was rather exhilarating.
Awakening the next morning, Arlington eagerly went downstairs for breakfast. Darcy and Bingley had already left for the day while the Hursts and Georgiana were still abed. He made the usual small talk with Caroline. They often ate together. Afterwards, he suggested they adjourn to the drawing room.
“Will you play?” he asked, and she obliged.
As he turned pages for her, he realised he enjoyed this sort of closeness. It was not strictly erotic, but there was a companionship. The very thing he had decided he wanted weeks ago. How had he been so foolish to think a mistress would provide that? What he had wanted was a wife. The music came to an end.
“You play beautifully,” he said.
“Thank you,” Caroline replied. “I have certainly practiced enough.”
“But do you enjoy it?”
Caroline laughed. “I do enjoy playing, but I rather think I like it because I do it well. I have no patience to pursue a hobby I cannot do well.”
“I think you could excel at anything.” At last, his praise made her blush. “In fact, I believe that you could even be an excellent viscountess.”
Caroline gasped and then met his eyes. He reached for her hand and kissed it. “Will you, Caroline?”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said.
“Surprised?” He was too.
She let out a rueful laugh. “More than a little.” To his astonishment, she pulled her hand from his and stood, creating distance between them. “Why me?”
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