by Robin Helm
“Wickham!” Richard sat upright quickly. His hands fisted.
How did he decipher the man’s identity from that statement?
Darcy nodded once. “Apparently, Wickham has joined the militia. His regiment is quartered in Meryton for the winter.”
“Hell’s bells. No wonder you did not attend.”
Richard traced a nasty scar on his chin with his thumb. When questioned about it, Richard’s visage would darken, and he would name it as a battle scar. Usually the listener wrongly assumed it was gained in service to the Crown, but in truth, it had been obtained years ago when Richard and Wickham had been embroiled in one of their many brawls as boys. Wickham had taken to wearing the ring that caused Richard’s scar all the time after realizing what a good weapon it had been. And Darcy had been appalled to see a matching welt on the cheek of the too-trusting daughter of Pemberley’s washwoman who had been abused and left with child.
“I did not have the opportunity to warn the gentlemen of the area about him, though, and I am feeling the error deeply,” said Darcy.
“You mean ‘Keep your eye on your daughters around that one’?”
Darcy nodded. “And there was already evidence that the ladies of the area were affected by his red coat.”
“Yes, the coat is good for that. The more gold braiding, the better.” Richard wiggled his eyebrows, then frowned. “In the case of gentlemen, it does not mean more than a guarantee for some flirting whenever they wear it, but in Wickham’s case, it could be a real danger.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He had relied on Bingley’s warning Mr. Bennet about the rascal, but he wondered if Bingley had been too distracted by the wedding plans. Perhaps he should write to Mr. Bennet himself? Or Sir William?
“But you know,” Richard said thoughtfully, “Wickham is not the type to do well in the militia. Having to take orders, the drills and living in tents… army food. Additionally, the wages are not high enough to account for his tastes.”
Richard left unsaid that Wickham had no supplemental income, as Richard had.
“Agreed,” Darcy answered.
“I predict that, before long, the rat will abandon his post and end up in prison for desertion.” Richard seemed satisfied.
Darcy grinned. “One can hope.”
Darcy breathed easier. If his cousin had confronted Wickham, Richard would wind up in prison for killing the man. It was the only reason he had not challenged the scoundrel to a duel himself. While Wickham excelled in charm, he had never been good with pistols or swords.
As Richard laughed, his attention was caught by something outside the window. “Look there.” He waved.
Darcy glanced in that direction but missed the sight. “Who was it?”
“I am not sure, but judging by Anne’s description of their new parson in her letters, the man’s clothing, and the depth of his bow, it must have been he.”
“Collins.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “It sounds as though Anne’s portrayal of him to you has been similar to those in her letters to me. She was correct in every respect.”
“Really? Where did you become acquainted with such a man?”
“Bingley’s ball.” His heart squeezed at the memory of how a certain lady’s blush had brightened her visage when that same clergyman proceeded in the direction opposite to which the dance required. This recollection was followed by another: her eyes sparkling with humour and intelligence as she challenged Darcy to converse with her during their own set. The memory of her tinkling laughter was next, which had haunted him ever since she had stayed at his friend’s home when her sister, now Mrs. Bingley, had fallen ill there. He could almost smell a hint of jasmine and lavender that filled his senses whenever she was near.
So lovely, so clever. He had never been bored in her company.
Elizabeth…
He closed his eyes for a moment. Lately, almost every subject led his thoughts to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The very reason he had left Hertfordshire.
“Well. Bingley certainly kept you busy,” said Richard.
Darcy’s eyes snapped open. He had almost forgotten where he was.
“But what was Aunt Catherine’s clergyman doing in Hertfordshire?”
“Visiting a relation. Apparently, he will inherit an estate near Bingley’s when its current owner passes.”
Then Elizabeth would be left without a home, as he had heard Mrs. Bennet mention several times before Collins came to town. Tossed into the hedgerows to starve. Unless Collins had his way… He had been paying too much attention to his cousin at the ball for his interest to be merely familial.
Darcy could not imagine Elizabeth accepting an offer from that man, but he also knew quite well that a lady did not always have a choice. He did not know Mr. Bennet well enough to judge whether he would ignore her protests and force her into a marriage against her will.
A shudder passed up his spine.
No, it was too disgusting a prospect. He must put that image out of his mind.
Bingley would care for his new sisters and mother-in-law, if it came to that. Even though that was probably the only reason Jane Bennet married Bingley, the thought that there would be no hedgerows in Elizabeth’s future gave Darcy a bit of comfort.
“I understand Collins has brought home a bride. Anne enjoys her company.”
Darcy’s started. “I did not hear about this.”
“I believe it is a lady from the area Collins was visiting recently.”
The coach turned into the drive of Rosings Park and slowed to a stop before the manor house.
Stomach churning, Darcy heartily hoped this new addition to the neighbourhood was not the same lady who had occupied his thoughts since they had met four months prior.
Chapter Two
~Tuesday, December 31, 1811
By the morning meal, Elizabeth had learned that Mr. Collins’s manners had improved slightly since he had stayed at Longbourn, though she was certain his progress had come about only through gentle prompts from Charlotte.
After breaking their fast, Mr. Collins took his father-in-law on a tour of the neighborhood in his gig. Elizabeth bundled up against the crisp December air and walked out, leaving Charlotte and Maria alone for a sisterly chat.
The Park belonging to Lady Catherine de Bourgh was delightful, and Elizabeth spent a few satisfying hours exploring an interesting path.
Upon her return, Charlotte informed her of some news. “You must make haste to get ready, Lizzy. Miss de Bourgh stopped by to invite us to Rosings Park for tea this afternoon. Lady Catherine wishes to meet our guests.”
“So soon?” At the fall of Charlotte’s expression, Elizabeth quickly continued, “I am happy to attend. I must say, after hearing Mr. Collins’s description of Rosings Park’s inhabitants, my interest is piqued.”
“I shall be interested to hear your first impressions.”
Elizabeth only nodded, then excused herself to return her outerwear to her room.
Would Charlotte truly wish to hear her opinions?
When both ladies were single and living in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth had been in the habit of offering her unguarded thoughts not only to Jane, but also to Charlotte, who in years past had been entertained by Elizabeth’s quest to discover the ridiculousness in their neighbours’ behaviours. But now that Charlotte was married and resided here in Kent, Elizabeth was unsure about what to say to her. Was her friend looking for someone to confide in, or would she prefer Elizabeth point out only what she found favourable? Though she felt Mr. Collins was a silly, nonsensical man, it was polite to no longer share her views of her cousin with his wife, even that he was also innocuous and loyal to a fault. But would this same rule apply to Charlotte’s new neighbours, as well?
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
Darcy and Richard entered the Red Drawing Room. Red it was: red velvet wallcoverings, red draperies, red upholstery, and red carpets, all trimmed with gold embroidered patterns and braiding. Poor Anne’s pallor was accentuated by the
overpowering background.
“You are two days early,” Lady Catherine de Bourgh bellowed.
As Darcy straightened after his bow, he saw his cousin Anne stiffen and felt Richard, next to him, do the same.
“Good afternoon to you, Aunt Catherine. Anne,” Darcy said. Richard repeated the sentiments.
Aunt Catherine narrowed her eyes but said nothing in response.
Darcy cleared his throat. “You did not receive the note I sent by Express, Aunt?”
“I did not.” Aunt Catherine raised her chin.
Anne’s widened eyes told him that her mother had received the letter.
Interesting. Why would his aunt lie?
Anne glanced at the ceiling. He supposed that indicated she would explain when they met her in her sitting room, as they usually did after they had changed out of their travelling clothes.
He returned his gaze to his aunt. “I apologize, madam, for it is entirely my fault.” He bowed again. “Richard’s regiment returned to London two days before it was expected, and since you had expressed a disappointment at our original arrival date being later than you wished, I suggested we leave as soon as was possible.”
“I forgive you, Darcy, and you too, Richard, though I must say this is most inconvenient. If I had known you were coming today, I never would have made arrangements to have guests for tea this afternoon.” Aunt Catherine frowned.
Richard spoke up, “Anyone we know?”
“Mr. Collins, my new rector, who has mentioned meeting Darcy on one or two occasions. He will be accompanied by his new bride and a few of their relations. And Mr. Gibbs, Anne’s physician.”
Darcy glanced at the clock and swallowed hard. He had thought he would have more time with Anne before meeting Mr. Collins’s bride. Exactly who was expected at tea?
“Well, then. If you will excuse us, we should refresh ourselves before meeting your guests.”
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
As Darcy approached Anne’s sitting room door, he heard Richard’s deep laughter from within. Darcy knocked, and the door swung open.
“We have been waiting for you.” Richard gestured for Darcy to enter.
Anne’s chamber was cozy and tastefully decorated with muted tones, and she seemed comfortable sitting in a high-backed, over-stuffed chair with her feet up on an ottoman. A blanket was draped over her lap and a light-green shawl around her shoulders. She appeared almost healthy. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne’s companion, sat near a window, tending to some embroidery. He bowed his head to the woman, and she smiled and nodded.
Darcy approached his fair cousin and held out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon. “Georgiana sent this for you.”
Anne’s face brightened. “Thank you.”
“Are you not going to share the contents of the package?” asked Richard.
Anne’s colour rose. “Oh, uh… just some drawings.”
Darcy suspected they were not just some drawings, but he could not imagine what else it could be.
“You look well, Anne,” Darcy said.
“Ever since my new physician—” She blushed even deeper than before. “—Mr. Gibbs, prescribed some remedies to drink five times daily, I have been feeling much better. Stronger. He predicts I will be as healthy as any lady my age within a year. Maybe sooner.” She smiled heartily, then went on, “But we have little time before tea, so if you please, I would like to speak with you about a serious matter. Thank you for coming now instead of at Easter, as you usually do. Will you not take a seat?”
Both gentlemen did so.
“I am concerned about Mother.”
“Concerned?” Darcy asked.
Anne nodded. “I believe you saw my reaction when Mother mentioned she had not received your letter, Darcy. The truth is, I was with her when she received it, as was Mrs. Jenkinson, though as far as I know, she did not read it. Her forgetfulness is becoming progressively worse. When reminded of something she has forgotten, she becomes agitated, so I have ceased bringing it up. In fact, I almost never speak in her presence any longer except to agree with her, though I have asked Mr. Gibbs about it.”
Anne’s colour rose once again when mentioning her physician. Hmmm. He had met the man during his last visit. He seemed dedicated to his calling.
“Mr. Gibbs has eased my mind, stating that becoming forgetful is common when one is in their golden years, as he put it, but it would be necessary for him to examine her to be certain that is all it is. When I suggested to Mother that Mr. Gibbs should assess her health, she became quite angry and refused.”
Darcy’s aunt’s memory had always been what was convenient. When proven wrong by experience, she insisted she had been right all along, even if her views actually changed during the process. It was one of her defining traits. If challenged, she could become verbally brutal.
“The reason I have asked you to come to Rosings now is because, in the past, you both have voiced misgivings about our steward’s business practices and urged Mother to find a new steward. Although Mother has never believed Mr. Tulk is anything but an upstanding businessman, I thought it might be a good idea for you to inspect the books early this year, in case Mr. Tulk has also noticed Mother’s forgetfulness and has taken advantage of it somehow.”
Darcy said, “I am sorry to hear Aunt Catherine is not at her best. It was no trouble to come early.”
“It was not a falsehood when I told your mother that the timing of this visit was better for me.” Richard said. “I leave for the continent again in March, and while I cannot go into the specifics, I can say that having a detailed plan in place before we leave England is critical. I could not have been spared to accompany Darcy later than this.
“But I have been thinking,” continued Richard, “perhaps it would be better to examine Rosings accounts more than once a year. Though my father is of the same generation, he is eight years younger than his sister, and his mind is still sharp as a tack. Mayhap Father can visit Rosings as soon as the Season ends and give the books the once over when he does. I will speak to him.”
“Could your brother also visit after the harvest at his own estate, Richard?” Darcy asked.
Richard replied. “I am convinced he will comply, as well.”
“That would be wonderful! Thank you so very much.”
Richard laid his hand on Anne’s. “I am sorry that I am away from England so often lately and you cannot rely on me to do the same, but if you find you need me whilst I am at home, contact me. If I am able to come, I will.”
“I know I can rely on you, Richard.”
A feeling of dread suddenly settled in Darcy’s stomach. “My only remaining question is, does Aunt Catherine remember the long talk we had with her during my visit last year?”
That conversation was one of the most difficult in his life. He would not want to repeat it.
Anne shook her head. “I am sorry, but she has indicated that still believes you and I shall honour her wish that we shall marry.”
Darcy groaned. He and Anne were close, yes, but to marry her would be like marrying his sister.
“I am not happy about it, either,” Anne said.
Of course, she would not be. Anne had made it perfectly clear that she felt the same way about him. However, there was something more in her expression, concern that had never been there when they discussed this subject in the past.
Was there someone new in her life, someone she did wish to marry? Mr. Gibbs, perhaps?
He and Richard would have to make certain Mr. Gibbs knew that although Anne had no brothers and her father was deceased, she was not unprotected.
A knock came upon the door and a maid entered, telling them their presence was required in the Gold Parlour. Richard offered his arm to Anne, leaving Darcy to escort Mrs. Jenkinson.
Only as Darcy stepped into the corridor did he realize he had not had time to ask Anne the names of the guests they were about to meet.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
Since they were going o
nly for tea, Elizabeth wore her third-best gown, saving her second- and first-best in case they were invited to dine at Rosings, or anywhere else for that matter.
Charlotte beamed her satisfaction with Elizabeth’s appearance.
However, when Mr. Collins first saw her, he voiced disappointment in her attire, though he rallied in time, stating that it was best to preserve rank. Sir William nodded profusely at the proclamation. If their expressions had not been so serious, she might have felt insulted, but as it was, she was forced to stifle laughter.
As the party walked to the manor house, Mr. Collins never stopped chattering on and on about the splendors of Rosings Park — the number of windows and chimney pieces, the elegance of the building, and the superiority of its occupants.
As the house came into view, Elizabeth agreed it was large, though not as handsome as her cousin continued to boast, even now. The angles were sharp and awkward, it seemed pieced together from several designs, and there were far too many elaborate battlements for her taste.
Inside, well… to say all was overstated would be an understatement.
Once divested of their wraps, their group was shown into the Gold Parlour, which lived up to its name. Mr. Collins offered her the arm opposite the one Charlotte already clung to, and it was a good thing he had, for the chamber nearly made her dizzy. Elizabeth’s attention could not settle on any one thing, for her gaze flitted from one gilded carving-covered wall to another, between which were wooden panels most likely put there by the craftsman to provide any onlookers a bit of relief. Lady Catherine, however, had covered every inch of them with gold-framed paintings. Elizabeth decided that a week in this room would still not provide enough time to thoroughly examine every busy aspect.
Mr. Collins hurried them along down a long chamber, and Elizabeth forced her eyes to concentrate on a group of figures silhouetted at the end of it by the very large windows behind them. Between the shadowed profiles were two chairs, boasting almost as many turrets as the house itself.
As they approached, Elizabeth’s vision adjusted to the light, and she was able to focus on the people themselves.