Monty edged closer to Anne, pinning her against the side of the carriage. “You and I rub along well, don’t we, old girl?”
Old girl? Anne was astounded by the liberties he was taking. She wanted to push him away, but she was growing scared of him with every passing moment.
“I think we do. You can say it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her again and her fear was overpowered momentarily as she stifled a laugh. “What do you say to giving Monty a little kiss?”
Anne drew in a deep breath. She was going to give him a piece of her mind. “How dare…”
Anne never finished her sentence. The carriage hit a hole in the road and Anne was thrown forward onto the seat in front. If she had not held on tightly, she would have gone over the side. She was unhurt, but shaken. The convoy came to a stop and Lady Catherine rushed to her daughter’s rescue. Anne was never as pleased for her mother’s intervention as she was at that moment. Henry begged Lady Catherine to permit Anne to sit with them for the remainder of the journey. He carefully witnessed all that took place with Monty and glared intensely at the younger man.
“What a stroke of bad luck!” Monty declared, trying to brush it all off as he watched Lady Catherine take Anne to her carriage. “Anne can sit with me. She’s in no danger. I will keep her safe, I swear it to you.”
Anne did not hear what passed between Henry and Monty while she climbed into the carriage, but she did see Monty’s red face as Henry walked back to join them. Henry wore a thundercloud above his head. He was clearly angry. Anne suspected that Monty’s behaviour had been observed and she was glad of it. She wanted to disentangle herself from any implied understanding as quickly as was possible.
Anne noticed that Henry made a fuss of her once they were all seated and in motion once again. She was grateful for the attention. For one awful, heart-stopping moment, she thought she would be tossed out of the carriage.
Her mother, on the other hand, was less sympathetic. “I have been keeping my eyes fixed upon you, Anne. You should encourage young Montague. He is a fair prospect.” She stared at Anne. “And just look at the poor fellow now. He looks quite put out.”
Anne looked ahead to Monty’s carriage. He had moved his seat so that he could look back at her. His face was like thunder. He did not look put out so much as angry. A shiver ran down Anne’s spine. She did not like the way he was staring at her. She wondered what kind of man he would be if he wasn’t out to charm her.
* * *
By the time they arrived in Westerham, they were famished. Henry, Charles, and Walter set off to procure a room in the inn where they could take luncheon in private. The inn wasn’t terribly busy that day and Anne was glad of it. Her nerves had taken a shaking once already that day and she desired to stay as calm as possible from then on. She knew her wishes would not come true when Monty took a seat next to her at the table.
“I do hope you have recovered from our little wobble out there on the road, Miss Anne.”
Anne tried not to meet his gaze.
“I fear that the old folks have made far too much of it, don’t you think?”
Anne did not reply.
“Hmm? What do you say to accompanying me back again to Rosings? We’ll have such fun.” He reached out and laid his hand upon Anne’s on the table. “What do you say?”
Anne snatched her hand away, but it was too late. Her mother had seen.
“Anne would be delighted to accompany you back to Rosings, Montague.” She smiled at him. “Anne seems to have lost her tongue in all the excitement. Haven’t you, Anne?” Lady Catherine’s smile slipped off of her face and she stared at Anne with such a scowl that left her daughter in no doubt of its meaning. The tilt of her head indicated that she expected Anne to reply.
“Yes, of course, Mother,” Anne whispered. There was nothing she would rather do less than accompany Monty back to Rosings. How could her mother not see that?
Lady Catherine began to converse with Monty while Anne observed them. She realised her mother had singled Monty out as the man whom she was to marry. Her stomach knotted at the thought and she lost her appetite.
Anne forced a few mouthfuls down, as she did not wish to become faint, and remained quiet throughout the meal. The joviality around the table did not extend to her. She wanted no part of it. She realised with a sinking feeling that she would certainly be married off to a man she didn’t love and forced to live in a county that she was unfamiliar with. She thought of her cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and wished he were there. She knew that he would speak reasonably to her mother. He and their other cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, were often the voices of reason in family disputes. Oh, how she wanted them now. Her mother was determined, however. It was clearly written on her face and Monty caught every meaning and nuance held therein.
Anne took longer than usual with her toilette before heading back to the carriage. The gentlemen indulged the ladies and waited patiently while they arranged themselves to return to Rosings. Anne, however, sat on the stool in the room she was given and wept. She had been overly occupied with her own freedom. Too focused on showing she could accomplish things her mother thought she couldn’t and hadn’t seen the danger approaching. She had attracted the attention of the last man on earth whom she could ever marry.
She splashed water on her face and reluctantly made her way back to the waiting party. She had to seek advice on the subject. She did not know what to do, and to refuse to marry him could well result in her never having another offer made to her again. Anne bit her lip as she realised that worse still was the fact that she would have to live with her angered mother. Her way seemed clear. She felt she had no choice but to accept Monty’s advances.
The smile on Monty’s face as he handed Anne in to the carriage was one of pure triumph. He had what he wanted. Anne suspected that he wanted Rosings and her money, not her. She determined to make enquiries, or, at the very least, to listen more attentively to the threesome’s conversations. If she was to be forced to spend the rest of her life with this man, then she had to discover more about him.
They took a slow and leisurely drive back to Rosings. To Anne’s astonishment, Monty shifted closer to her and pressed his thigh up against hers. The colour rose in Anne’s face and she could feel her cheeks burn. She was angry with him and wanted him to move away. She turned to look at him and saw him smirk. He’d seen her colour rise and she knew he took its meaning incorrectly.
Monty leant closer to Anne and spoke in a low voice. “I wonder if we might prevail upon your mother to allow a little dancing this evening, dear Miss Anne?”
Anne looked at him, unsure of his meaning.
“I’ve a fancy to dance with you.” He licked his lips, his voice husky. “To touch you and be intimate with you.”
Anne gasped and he laughed at her.
“What? You cannot tell me that you do not wish it, Anne! I saw your colour rise when I pressed my leg against yours.” He waggled his eyebrows at her again.
She thought he was ridiculous when he did that. “I wish nothing of the sort,” she snapped.
He laughed at her again. “Playing hard to get, are we?”
“Not at all, I assure you.”
Her response made him laugh heartily. “Well, we shall see. We shall see.”
Anne did not wish to talk to him any further but his comment piqued her interest. “And what do you mean by that?”
He smiled at her and moved a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Merely that, in time, there will be no need for pretence between us, Miss Anne.”
Anne paled. Dear God, she prayed, please don’t let him ask for my hand in marriage.
* * *
Monty continued to talk about himself, his estate, and the life he enjoyed in London. Anne was content to permit him to carry on. She had no desire to partake of the conversation. She halfheartedly listened to him and nodded where appropriate. She had spent many years at her mother’s interminable dinner parties and knew exactly how to give the appearan
ce of full attention while allowing her mind to wander freely.
Monty was painting an almost idyllic picture of his life. Anne doubted the verity of most of it, and what she knew of Monty did not fit the fine image he drew. She knew from observation that he and his friends were fond of their drink and cigars. She also knew they were excessively fond of gambling. For Anne, these were points strongly against the man. She also guessed that his estate could not be as perfect as he purported it to be, if he was so free with his money elsewhere. He had mentioned that his father’s health was failing, so surely his place was in Somerset and not out and about town. She had also overheard a conversation in which Ernest mentioned Almack’s Assembly rooms in London. Horace had then laughed about some jape or other that occurred there. Anne knew that Almack’s was a select, members-only club on King Street, but not much more. However, she had the distinct feeling that it was not perhaps as reputable as she had heard, gathering from the things that Horace mentioned. She decided to question him.
“Do you visit Almack’s frequently, then, Monty?”
Monty’s face brightened. “Oh, yes, as often as one can.” He noticed Anne’s arched eyebrow. “Well, what I mean to say is…I’m a bachelor and all…well, what else is there for a young man to do?” He laughed uncomfortably. His freedom with his speech had caused him to be careless.
“And your estate? If you are so busy making merry in London, you cannot have much time to attend to estate business. Surely you are needed there more frequently than you visit?”
The look on his face showed that she caught him out.
“Well, Father has an estate manager. What do they need me for?”
He looked uncomfortable and Anne was satisfied. She now believed him to be feckless and doubted he would run Rosings well at all. She was sure he spent most of his time in town and visited Somerset rarely. Anne knew she would not be content to live her life in London and permit a great house to stand idly by to fall to rack and ruin. She had spent many seasons in London with either her mother or the Metcalfes over the years and the air did not agree with her in the least. She would much rather live in the country. She knew that she and Monty were as chalk and cheese and her unhappiness upon entering the marriage state would be sure to continue.
Monty was too embarrassed to talk very much for the remainder of the journey home and Anne sat in quiet victory. She was glad she’d silenced him. She was surprised, however, at how much like her mother she sounded from time to time during their discourse. The thought both scared her and pleased her. Deep down inside, she knew she was a de Bourgh, made of stern stuff.
* * *
Once back at Rosings, each one of them departed to their own rooms before meeting up again in the drawing room for tea. A new feeling struck up inside of Anne. It was a feeling of inner strength owing to the fact she realised she was a de Bourgh, and she was glad to find that it was chasing all her timidity away. That is, until she walked into the drawing room and saw all the faces staring at her. Monty’s was a mask of pure triumph, whereas Charles and Walter’s showed pure sadness and disappointment. Something happened and she wanted to know what it was. It was beyond the bounds of propriety for her to ask outright. She would have to wait until she was let into the secret. She hoped she wouldn’t be kept in suspense for long; the atmosphere in the room was unbearable.
Tea and cakes were served and the conversation remained stilted. Anne wished to be anywhere other than in that room. She was certain they were all staring at her.
An opportunity presented itself, or, was rather made to present itself, when Charles asked Anne to play the pianoforte a little for them. “You played so well the other evening that I have wanted to hear more from you ever since,” he said, rather too loudly and emphatically.
Anne seated herself at the instrument and knew it was a guise. “What on earth has happened?” she whispered, while making a fuss with the manuscript papers in front of her.
Charles, it seemed, was a good actor and feigned looking for a particular piece. He found one and loudly asked, “Do you know this one, Miss de Bourgh?”
Anne looked at him intensely, she wanted answers, not to play act.
“No? Well, let me show you.” Charles started to teach Anne the piece, which she already knew perfectly well. “Make a few mistakes as you repeat me or they will grow suspicious.” He whispered with a nod and a smile for their audience’s sake.
Anne struck a discord and Henry and Horace moved away from the piano so they could continue their conversation in peace. Anne was glad of it. She and Charles could speak freely with no risk of being overheard.
“Whilst you were upstairs, Fitz-Herbert made us all to believe that you and he had an understanding.”
“What?!” Anne couldn’t believe her ears. “Monty said that?”
Charles nodded. “Yes, he said he had every intention of seeking an audience with your mother tomorrow after church.” He searched her face. “Anne, do tell me it’s a falsehood. Do not tell me that a man such as he has truly won your heart.”
Anne remembered just in time to play a little on the pianoforte as her mother looked their way. She could hardly breathe. She was furious at his insolence, and hurt, too, but mostly she was scared. Such a rumour could be damaging and she would be forced to marry the man in order to save her reputation. Her eyes stung as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “What am I to do?” she whispered.
“So, it is not true, then?”
She shook her head at him.
The relief was evident in Charles’ demeanour. “Oh, Anne, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that.”
Anne could no longer play. She felt that her hands were paralysed. Charles took over the playing on her behalf.
“You must distance yourself from him.”
“How? Each time I turn around he is there.”
Charles thought for a moment or two. “Take your walks at an earlier hour than he does, then return home and retire to your room to write your letters until luncheon. In the afternoon, there is less chance for him to have time alone with you without one of us noticing.”
Anne nodded. “And what of my mother? You said he intended to speak to her.”
“Ah, yes.” Charles sighed. “There we come to the fly in the ointment.”
“She believes him to be an excellent match for me.”
“Aye, and I can imagine why. She is not thinking about the man himself or the life she will be consigning you to, I’m afraid.”
That was too much for Anne to hear and her tears fell in earnest. Walter, who was watching them, approached and gave her his handkerchief. “Here, dry your eyes before anyone sees.” He remained standing next to the piano in such a way as to shield Anne from prying eyes.
“I am so sorry,” she wept.
“Anne, do not be. He has deceived us all and will entrap you if we cannot devise a way out for you.”
Walter looked at Charles. “I did not believe it was true. The Anne we have come to know would give her heart to a gentler man.” He smiled kindly at her and she returned it.
“Oh, dear Lord, if only there was such a man. If I cannot extricate myself from this falsehood, then I will be forced to marry a man I do not love.” She offered the handkerchief back to Walter, who told her to keep it. “What possibly can be his motive for telling such an untruth?”
“Anne, can you not guess?” He looked sadly at her.
She shook her head.
“Dear, sweet Anne.” Walter smiled. “It is your money and Rosings he is after, and nothing more. He cannot see the lovely young lady that you are at all for your fortune.”
Anne knew such men existed. She knew marriages were made for rank, titles, money, and estates. She was not so naïve as to not know how many society marriages were made. She was disgusted, however, that someone would lie and deceive in order to get what they wanted, especially when they already had a fortune and an estate of their own.
Charles patt
ed her on the hand. “At least tomorrow is Sunday. You can spend more time alone and in solitude. Perhaps your friend, James Watkins, will be able to advise you. He is a minister and what is more natural than conversing with a minister on a Sunday?” He smiled and Anne took encouragement from his words.
Yes, she knew she would have a shoulder to cry on in James. She hoped that he would understand and not urge her to encourage Monty’s advances.
Anne spent the rest of the afternoon at her needlework. Whenever anyone asked her to join them, she pleaded a headache as an excuse.
That evening she retired early, claiming that the excesses of the day had only served to worsen her headache and she wished to sleep. Once in her room, she wrote to her cousin, Richard, but felt him to be further away than ever.
She wished for Sunday, but she mostly wished Monty as far away from her as possible.
* * *
Lady Catherine was more content than she had been in many days. She knew Anne would soon be married, and married well. Her plan worked out exactly as intended, despite Anne’s temper tantrums in the beginning.
She readied herself for bed with the full expectation of Monty seeking her out after church the following day. She could not have been more pleased. She knew she had done well as a mother and now her daughter would have two estates and live an extremely comfortable life. What mother could ask for more? All they had to do now was await the proposal of marriage.
As she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, her mind was already planning a sumptuous wedding feast. She would ensure that Anne’s marriage to Montague Fitz-Herbert was the society wedding of the decade.
Rosings Page 8