Anne turned and asked her maid to check her hair another time as the young girl asked, “Who are those two then, Milady?”
Anne strained her neck to see out of the window. “The taller one is Charles Warrington. His father is General Warrington.”
The maid formed an O shape with her mouth.
“And the other is Walter Stapleton. His father owns a lot of land in Northumbria and he is to inherit seven thousand pounds a year, if all reports are to be believed.” Anne picked up her shawl, straightened her shoulders, and walked with a determined step out the door.
Anne descended the staircase as the gentlemen climbed the stone steps and entered the house. They both made rather a good show of greeting her mother, Anne thought. As she reached the bottom step and noticed her mother catching sight of her new hairstyle with a frown, Anne gave her guests her biggest and brightest smile. She knew she had nothing to fear from these two particular gentlemen.
“Charles, Walter, I am sure that you both remember my dear daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.” Lady Catherine gathered herself and played the role of hostess well, although Anne was certain that the subject of her hair would undoubtedly come up later in private.
Anne curtseyed deeply. “I trust that your journey was not too tiring, gentlemen?”
“Not at all, Miss de Bourgh,” Charles ventured. “Walter and I were staying in town and so we were not very far away. And may I say how lovely it is to see you again; now you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman.”
Anne blushed, but Lady Catherine beamed with pride. Anne surmised that her mother believed she had caught Charles’ attention already.
Walter turned to Lady Catherine and began to compliment her on Rosings. Anne saw that her mother was flattered by the young man’s attentions and interest in her home. Lady Catherine led the way to the summer room where refreshments awaited them, chattering all the while to Walter about her home. Anne smiled nervously at Charles when she noticed that his eyes were upon her.
“I assume this was entirely your mother’s idea.” He smiled disarmingly back at her and offered her his arm.
“Yes, indeed.”
“It is not unusual for mamas to do such a thing.” His smile was reassuring.
They walked in silence for a moment, each one trying to measure the other and choose the right words to say.
“Miss de Bourgh, if Walter or I can be of any assistance to you, then please, let us know.”
Anne was not entirely sure that she took his meaning and frowned at him.
Charles leant closer to her and whispered, “I mean with regards to your defence or protection.”
“Oh.” She paled at the thought.
“My own mother has more than once tried to have such a party for my younger sister. So I assure you that I know the pitfalls and dangers. Rest assured that you have allies in us.”
Anne flushed with the realisation of what he’d said, and was grateful. Lady Catherine turned back towards them and, unfortunately for Anne, saw her red face.
“Lumme! I am frightfully sorry,” Charles whispered as he helped Anne to a seat.
Anne was mortified. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to think that she was flattered by and forming an attachment to Charles Warrington so early on in their visit. She decided to avoid speaking with him very much for the remainder of the day. She needed to diffuse any hope that her mother was now beginning to harbour.
* * *
By the time they had finished their glasses of lemonade, the front bell rang again to announce the arrival of more guests. As one, they all made their way into the entrance hall and greeted Ernest Gibbs, whose chubbiness and ruddy complexion shocked Anne, who was not used to seeing such a man. His close friend, Horace Felton, arrived within an hour, and the last to arrive was Montague Fitz-Herbert, who was greeted as Monty by his friends. Anne was not sure that she liked any of them. She was convinced that Ernest Gibbs was a heavy drinker and Horace Felton had already asked her which card games she preferred. Anne disliked gambling, for she knew it to be the ruin of many a man and family. Montague Fitz-Herbert, however, had a swagger about him. He was not altogether unpleasant and certainly had a handsome face, but Anne was unsure of his sincerity whenever he spoke. She noticed, though, that her mother seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.
Anne avoided catching Mrs Jenkinson’s eye, as she knew the woman would make her laugh. After all her trepidation of the event, the reality was rather a disappointment for Anne. There was not one man among them that sent her pulse racing, neither was there one whom she deemed as an appropriate husband. That fact alone allowed her to relax a little as the day progressed and, when they all sat down to luncheon, she could say that she was finally at her ease once more.
Lady Catherine was in her element. Anne was amazed to see how her mother shone in such company. She was flattered by the constant attentions and compliments paid to her, by not only Walter and Charles, but also Monty. Anne was seated close by Mrs Jenkinson, who freely whispered her opinions to Anne throughout the afternoon.
“Ingratiate yourself with the mother to stand a better chance than any other at winning the daughter,” she hissed in Anne’s ear.
Anne tittered at her comment and drew a sharp, reprimanding look from her mother. She did not wish to upset her mother. She wanted to encourage her in order to get what she wanted. Therefore, Anne suggested that they take a turn in the garden and admire Lady Catherine’s excellent formal gardens. Anne took the lead and rose quickly. She did not wish her mother to reject the proposal. For a few heart-stopping seconds, Anne stood alone in the drawing room, before Charles Warrington rose from the settee.
“What an excellent notion, Miss de Bourgh.” He turned to Lady Catherine. “I hear that you have a most excellent garden here, Your Ladyship. I am most eager to be given a tour, if you would deign to escort me.” Charles held out his hand expectantly for Lady Catherine to take it. Anne held her breath, but need not have worried. Her mother was excessively flattered by all the gentlemen visitors and accepted the proffered arm without delay.
Anne walked next to Mrs Jenkinson. She wanted to let it be known that the older woman would chaperone and keep a close watch on any young man who ventured too near to her. They kept their distance, she was pleased to see, as they walked out of the rear of the house and into the gardens. She knew that she had to engage in conversation with them, however. That conversation came as soon as her mother was out of earshot.
“I say, Miss de Bourgh, these gardens must give you much enjoyment,” Horace said to her.
Anne was unsure whether he mocked her or not, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Anne was certain that half of society knew that she was sequestered at Rosings and she blushed with embarrassment.
“Indeed, sir. My mother is very particular as to their upkeep.” She was uncertain if she had answered well or not. She deeply felt the insinuation and her anger rose a little. She squared her chin and continued. “We also have fine woodlands here abouts. They’re excellent for riding or walking.” She knew this only from her cousins, but they didn’t know that. Anne was glad to see that smirk seemed to drop from Horace’s face.
“You don’t say.” He paused for a second and then pushed on. “I wonder if you’d agree to accompany me for a ride one morning, then, Miss de Bourgh?”
She was about to reply in the affirmative, despite her never having been on a horse in her life, when her mother spun around and spoke for her. “Oh, Anne doesn’t ride. I strictly forbid it.” She turned back to Charles. “It can be such a dangerous pastime, do you not agree?”
Anne’s cheeks burned with indignation and resentment. She had not realised they closed the distance and her mother overheard what they said. How could she have embarrassed her in such a manner, and in front of so many strangers? She wished to turn and flee, but propriety demanded that she stay and battle her humiliation. She could hardly bear the look of triumph on Horace’s face or the looks of amusement that passed betwee
n him and his two companions. Anne continued to walk on in uncomfortable silence. The three young men walked closely beside each other. Anne could tell that she remained the object of their conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them watching her and laughing at her discomfort and predicament.
Lady Catherine, together with her more agreeable companions, moved ahead of Anne, Mrs Jenkinson, and the remaining three gentlemen once again. Anne tried to quicken her step without being noticed; she did not wish to have a recurrence of their previous conversation. They mocked her and she was uncomfortable, but it was to no avail. Unfortunately, for Anne, the threesome increased their pace to keep up with her and, with a sinking feeling, she watched her mother move out of earshot.
Anne groaned inwardly when their goading began again in earnest. “I say, Miss Anne, do you dance at all? I would be honoured to dance a jig with you, Miss Anne,” Monty said, looking her up and down lasciviously.
Anne shuddered. Ernest and Horace chortled at the sport. They were obviously enjoying themselves.
“I bet you’re a good little mover, Miss Anne,” Monty drooled.
Anne was close to despairing when Mrs Jenkinson came to her aid. “Actually, Miss de Bourgh and I often dance for fun in her apartments. I would venture to say that she is particularly adept at many a dance.”
“Oh, really?” Horace laughed loudly. “Name one that you enjoy, then, Miss de Bourgh.”
Anne turned a deep crimson and wracked her brain for a dance she felt she was good at.
“La Boulangère,” Mrs Jenkinson blurted out.
Anne’s mind cleared at her companion’s voice. “Yes. Yes, and the Barley Mow.” She smiled.
“And the Shrewsbury Lasses.” Mrs Jenkinson’s eyes twinkled.
Anne’s blush returned as she remembered that they usually persuaded two or more of the maids to join in their fun, unbeknownst to her mother. She suspected the young men would make fun of her because of that, too. Mrs Jenkinson’s aid, however, encouraged her and lifted her spirits a little. She felt that she had enough courage to endure the rest of their walk.
By the time they all returned to the house an hour later, Anne was pleased to have taken such exercise, despite being teased, and a visitor awaited them within.
SIX
_______________________________
James Watkins was tired, dusty, and had a desperate thirst. However, he thought it polite to come first to Rosings and present himself to his new patroness. His father, Henry Watkins, sat beside him in the cavernous entrance of Rosings Park. He was a self-made man who took no nonsense from anyone and immediately saw through all pomp and grandeur. He was unimpressed. He was not happy at being sat beside his son in Rosings Park, but as he always said, his son had made his own bed and had to lie in it.
James was his third son. He had not wished to follow his elder brothers and enter into the family business. When James was six years old, he felt a calling and never once swayed from that conviction. It took a lot of persuasion, but eventually, he won his father over and studied at Oxford, then took holy orders.
Despite his habit of fussing over him, James was glad his father was sat at his side.
“Did that butler say that she’d gone for a walk in the garden?”
“Yes, Father.” Their voices echoed in the silent room.
“How long do you suppose we’ve sat here twiddling our thumbs?”
“I have no idea, but it seems an age.”
“I’m not used to such idleness, my boy. It’s a waste of time.” Henry Watkins sighed.
“I know, Father. I agree with you. I hope to conclude this business soon. Then we will take supper at the inn and we’ll have you on your way back to India before you know it.”
Henry cocked his head. “Hmm, I doubt that. Did you see how large the grounds are? It could be weeks before she gets back to the house!”
Their laughter was interrupted as Lady Catherine herself entered the hall and stared stony-faced at them both. She crossed the expanse with practised ease as they clambered stiffly to their feet and bowed. Lady Catherine’s expression did not change. She merely stared at them.
After what seemed to be an interminable silence, James cleared his throat. “I am James Watkins. Your Ladyship was expecting me, I believe.”
Realisation spread across Lady Catherine’s face and she smiled from relief. “Yes, my new parson. It is such a relief to me to have you here at last. I am most grateful for your promptness in this matter.” She held out her hand to be kissed. She then turned her gaze on Henry. “And you are?”
Henry took a deep breath. He was used to such rudeness from the Colonial masters in India, and despised it. It took many months to learn to hold his tongue in such a situation. “I am Henry Watkins, Your Ladyship, James’ father.”
Lady Catherine raised her eyebrows at him. “And, pray, what business do you have here?”
Henry swallowed his retort. “Your Ladyship, a life in the church was not my choice for my son, but it was his choice, and far be it from me to stand in the way of what he truly wants. I’m here purely and simply to satisfy myself that my boy’s living is acceptable and that he will be treated well. Do not all parents desire the same?”
Lady Catherine’s face showed she believed she would never desire anything the same as the man in front of her. She grunted a reply and he nodded. He instantly began to worry for his son and mentally made plans to extend his visit to England.
“You will both stay for dinner?”
James and Henry knew that was not a question but an order. They bowed and answered in the affirmative, despite desperately needing to wash and brush up after their journey.
“Very well, then, Mr Watkins, follow me. We have much to discuss.”
Henry straightened up and followed his son and Lady Catherine. After that start, wild horses could not have prevented him from sticking closely to his son’s side.
* * *
Anne stood and watched her mother greet the strangers from behind one of the pillars. She did not wish to be seen eavesdropping. She liked the look of the two strangers. They had open faces. She appreciated that in people, and was glad that they were staying for dinner. It gave her someone to talk to other than the three young men with whom she’d been forced to spend an afternoon. At the remembrance of those three men, she gathered up her skirts and ran up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.
Mrs Jenkinson joined her swiftly. “Well, Miss!”
Anne smiled at her companion and knew immediately to what she was referring. “Mr James Watkins, the new parson, and his father, Henry Watkins, apparently.” Anne looked smugly at her friend.
“Aye, the servants just informed me.” She drew up a chair and sat next to Anne at the dressing table. “According to Wilson, they sat patiently awaiting the mistress for over an hour!”
Anne gasped. “And no one thought to come and fetch us?”
“It seems not,” Mrs Jenkinson replied with a shake of her head.
Anne began to loosen her hair and Mrs Jenkinson stood to assist her. “I do hope they are better company than we had this afternoon.”
“Aye, so do I.”
Anne slipped her dress off and put on her robe. She usually was forced to nap before dinner and was accustomed to it. She was also not used to exerting herself physically, and the walk in the garden tired her.
She laid her head on the pillow and sighed as she thought of that afternoon. “Oh, Mrs Jenkinson, whatever am I to do? Those men are beastly. I cannot spend my life with one of them, I cannot!” A solitary tear fell onto the pillow.
Her companion smoothed Anne’s hair with her hand. “I agree. We shall have to see what can be done.”
Anne rewarded her with a smile.
“Now, rest, Milady.”
Anne watched Mrs Jenkinson retreat through the door to the servants’ passage and out of sight. She prayed there was such a miracle that could set her free.
* * *
Walking into di
nner that evening, Anne was full of nerves. She was curious about meeting the new parson and his father, but dreaded being in the company of Monty, Horace, and Ernest with the whole of her being. The threesome sat on her left but, thankfully, she had Walter and Henry Watkins on her right. She wished there were more ladies at the table so that they weren’t staring at her like hawks watching their prey. Much to her relief, Walter had gleaned much information about Rosings and the estate in general whilst walking with Lady Catherine that afternoon. Anne relaxed as he chatted away to her, drawing comparisons between Rosings and his own estate in the northeast of England. Anne, who had never really travelled beyond her locale and the occasional trip into London, was engrossed in his conversation. She saw out of the corner of her eye that the threesome, as she now termed them, were sneering, but she cared not. She was finally beginning to enjoy herself.
As the fish course came and Walter stopped in his description of his estate to eat, Henry Watkins addressed Anne. “Have you travelled much, Miss de Bourgh?”
The threesome did little to hide their sniggers. They drew daggers from Mr Watkins’ stare. Anne was grateful that this seemed to subdue them again.
“Unfortunately, no, Mr Watkins. I have not had much opportunity to travel.” She knew that statement would attract ridicule, but knew she had to answer his question all the same. She continued. “I have, of course, been to London often, and travelled many times to Derbyshire to visit family there.”
“Of course. And I am not entirely surprised that you haven’t travelled more widely.” The threesome looked smugly at Anne upon hearing Mr Watkins’ reply, but he hadn’t finished and plunged on, bringing a smile to Anne’s lips. “Why would a pretty rose like you leave such a palace such as this, eh?” He took another bite of his fish and continued. “There is plenty to occupy many a young lady here at Rosings Park, I daresay.”
Rosings Page 5