Chapter 23 The Most Suitable of the Suitors
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE MOST SUITABLE OF THE SUITORS
Over the next fortnight, it became increasingly apparent that two men were earnestly vying for Anne’s hand in marriage; she seemed likewise interested in them as well.
Lord Amesbury, a viscount and heir to the Dunsworth earldom, was the younger of the two—but only by two years—and was kind and earnest. Lord Rawlings, an earl, was a bit livelier and kept them all amused with his wry observations and good humour.
The name those familiar with him called him was Jolly, for he really was nearly always in a fine humour, ready to laugh and spin a good yarn.
Both men had expressed an interest in marrying Anne, so the ladies had gathered in the drawing room at Matlock House to decide which, if either, ought to be the victor.
Miss Darcy perched on the edge of the settee, her eyes bright with interest, plainly delighted to be privy to the discussion which was held between Elizabeth, Lady Catherine, and Lady Matlock, and of course Anne herself.
“I daresay the first question must be whether you are prepared to make your decision,” said Lady Matlock.
“Prepared? Of course she is prepared. What has all of this been for if she was not ready to take a husband?” Lady Catherine said immediately, sounding quite snappish.
Elizabeth looked over at her, worried for her. She had been excessively tired these past weeks, and her countenance had a grey colour that never quite seemed to brighten.
“May I get you something, Lady Catherine?” she asked gently.
Lady Matlock understood her immediately. “We could be here for some time. I should ring for tea.”
With a frosty hauteur that Elizabeth had come to understand meant that the lady was truly not feeling well, Lady Catherine said, “I assure you both I am perfectly capable of sitting here all day for the benefit of my daughter.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“But yes, do ring for the tea. No use all of us dying from thirst.” With a sniff, Lady Catherine turned her attention to Anne. “Well, Anne? Who will it be?”
“I find myself no closer to a decision than when you asked me yesterday, Mama.”
“No closer to a decision,” Lady Catherine roared, immediately piqued, and Elizabeth thought she ought to intervene. The arguments between Lady Catherine and her daughter were quick to ignite and led to lengthy indispositions for both.
“It does you credit, Anne, to consider the matter carefully,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps if we compared the two, the answer might become more clear?”
“Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea,” said Lady Matlock warmly. “Anne, tell us about your feelings for Viscount Amesbury. What are his particular merits?”
Anne considered it a moment. “He is very…attentive, very deferential. He remembers everything I say, even the most trivial observations. When I mentioned that I preferred the yellow roses in the garden to the red, he arrived the next day with a bouquet of them. And he reads poetry—he quoted Wordsworth to me during our walk yesterday.”
“How very romantic!” Miss Darcy enthused.
“But do you like poetry, Anne?” Elizabeth pressed. “Is that something you find romantic yourself?”
Anne pursed her lips while she considered that. “Perhaps…not. I think a man ought to be able to express himself in his own words.”
“But he might have been nervous,” Lady Matlock hastened to say.
“Perhaps so,” Anne agreed.
“What of Lord Rawlings?” Elizabeth prompted. “Does he quote poetry to you?”
Anne smirked. “No, not at all. In fact, he admitted quite frankly that he finds most poetry tedious except for Byron, whom he suspects of being ridiculous on purpose. But he makes me laugh. He has the most absurd observations about society, and he does not treat me as though I am made of spun glass.”
“You have a delicate constitution,” Lady Catherine warned. “A careless man whose first object is to ridicule could not be ideal.”
“I would not say his first object is to ridicule, only that it amuses me when he does,” Anne retorted.
“Yesterday he told me that my bonnet—that darker green one that is more voluminous in the back than the front—made me look like a ‘particularly distinguished head of broccoli’, and I declare I laughed until I nearly cried. Then we had a twenty-minute debate about whether a head of broccoli possesses dignity.”
While Lady Catherine cried out a protest against such levity, Elizabeth enquired, “And what, might I ask, was the result of the debate? Who won?”
“The broccoli, of course,” Anne teased with a slight raise of her brow. Elizabeth laughed, delighted by the alteration in her. The Anne de Bourgh she had met last autumn certainly had not a teasing disposition, and she was well-pleased to see it now.
“You ought to have slapped him for such an impertinence,” said Lady Catherine ominously.
“I am of a serious nature myself, Mama, as you know, and perhaps am in need of someone who is impertinent to keep me from becoming grave.”
“Like my brother,” said Miss Darcy with an obvious lack of forethought. “For him to marry someone with a quiet, sober disposition would not do well. A livelier…”
Her voice died off and she grew red, realising her mistake. Tucking her chin into her chest, she murmured, “Forgive me.”
Lady Catherine gave her niece a hard look while Lady Matlock merely looked away, clearly ill at ease. To Anne’s credit, it was she who saved the situation.
“I believe you might be right,” she said with a confident air. “I see now that Darcy and I might have been too similar in our dispositions, too inclined towards residing in our own thoughts. It would have made for some horridly dull dinners, to be sure.”
An awkward pause ensued, as it generally did when Mr Darcy was mentioned.
“What I am hearing you say,” Lady Matlock said with a glance at her sister-in-law, “is that you are more inclined to accept Lord Rawlings.”
Anne leant forwards, animated in a way she rarely appeared.
“Viscount Amesbury makes me feel treasured and valued. He is everything society would deem a perfect suitor. But with Lord Rawlings, I feel that I can be myself. I do not have to measure my words or worry that I shall disappoint him by being insufficiently accomplished or interesting.”
“Which,” asked Miss Darcy with a girlish giggle, “do you find more handsome?”
“What has that to do with the price of tea?” Lady Catherine demanded while Lady Matlock smiled indulgently.
The younger ladies ignored her. “Amesbury is the better favoured overall,” Anne replied. “But Rawlings has that lovely red hair. It might be nice for my children to have such hair.”
Elizabeth and Miss Darcy exchanged a meaningful glance. “You imagine yourself raising Lord Rawlings’s children, then?” Elizabeth asked.
Anne tilted her head, considering that while the room seemed to wait with bated breath. “It seems I do.”
The door to the drawing room swung open, and Lord Saye and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered. “Do what?” Lord Saye enquired.
“Anne has two proposals to consider and is deciding which to accept,” Elizabeth said.
“Rawlings and Amesbury?” Lord Saye took a seat beside his mother.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he took a chair. “Both titled, both wealthy, both in possession of their own teeth. A difficult decision indeed.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I had not before considered that teeth must be a part of the decision.”
“I think we ought to take a vote as a family,” Lord Saye informed them all. “And my vote is Rawlings.”
“Amesbury is not entirely out of the running,” said Lady Catherine.
“Amesbury is everything proper and romantic,” Anne told the men. “While Rawlings is—”
“Improper and unromantic,” Lord Saye concluded. “Hence, he gets my vote. The family does not need some would-be poet rattling on.”
“The viscount has a vast quantity of good qualities to speak for him too,” said Lady Matlock. “Being more plain-spoken is not a crime.”
“What if we held a series of contests…” Lord Saye began. “Feats of strength, challenges to the intellect…”
“Oh, I like this idea,” said his brother. “Like the Olympics of ancient Greece.”
Lord Saye agreed with a nod. “We will have them compete for Anne’s hand in a series of challenges. First gentleman to cry off or flee the country loses.”
“Saye, do be serious,” his mother scolded.
“I assure you, Mama, I am wholly in earnest,” Lord Saye replied.
The colonel had risen and gone to the escritoire in the corner. Removing a sheet of paper, he began to write. “Feats of strength, tests of endurance… What say you to making them compose a poem in fifteen minutes or less?”
“It is the perfect idea. Think of this, Anne,” said Lord Saye. “Any man can play a part for a fortnight. But put them in an unexpected situation—test their humour, their patience, their ability to converse on topics beyond the merely conventional—and you shall see their true natures emerge.”
“The pair of you are incorrigible,” said Lady Catherine sternly while Lady Matlock merely regarded her two sons with amusement.
The door to the drawing room opened, and the housekeeper entered with two cards which she handed to Lady Matlock.
“A Mrs Goddard and a Miss Lillian Goddard,” she read. “I am not much acquainted with the ladies.”
“Anne and I have come to know Miss Goddard very well as we have made our rounds,” said Elizabeth. “She is a charming young lady.”
“Oh, she has likely called for the younger ladies, then. Likely they called first at Rosings House and were told we are here.” The countess instructed the housekeeper to see the ladies in.
Minutes later, Miss Goddard and her mother entered the room. Introductions were made where they were needed. “I do hope we have not interrupted anything,” said Mrs Goddard when all the requisite curtseys and bows and offers of tea had been executed.
“Not at all, I assure you,” said Lady Matlock warmly. “Only discussing the offers of marriage our dear Anne has received.”
“More like the spoils of war,” offered Colonel Fitzwilliam.