Epilogue 2
Rosings
Kent
Early
The eastern horizon looked like the inside of a seashell, all pearly gray and palest pink, the promise of a fair day to come.
The sun had not yet risen, but its light went before it, lighting the sky and deepening the shadows that lay upon the earth.
Four horses, as gray as the dawn, blew and stamped, eager to be off and away, their harnesses jingling and creaking softly with their restlessness.
The old coachman’s experienced hand lay heavy on the reins, holding his horses back, even as he huddled in his coat against the dawn’s chill.
It would be balmy later, but for now the air had yet to be warmed.
“In you go, my boy,” Josiah Ellsworth said, lifting his three-year-old son, Isaac, into the carriage, where his wife and other child awaited.
The boy scrambled in with enthusiasm, and Josiah climbed in after him, shut the door, and tapped the roof with his cane.
The horses shifted into motion, and Anne Ellsworth, nee de Bourgh, let out a deep sigh of relief.
She took a moment to mentally review everything on the list of what to take and what to do.
Her maid and Josiah’s valet and the children’s nurse could all be trusted to pack every personal necessity, but it was her responsibility to supervise the packing of anything else.
There had been consultations with Mr. Gates, the steward, leaving last-minute instructions, and with Mrs. Haysworth, the housekeeper, and with Dutton, the butler.
All of them were very competent, and yet Anne felt the full weight of her obligations as mistress of the estate.
She was excited about the upcoming holiday at Pemberley.
She loved Rosings, always had and always would, but it was a burden as well as a joy, a constant consciousness of duty.
It was wonderful to leave sometimes, to enjoy time with family and friends for a time before returning to once more take up the heavy mantle of responsibility.
If need arose, the head servants all had Anne and Josiah’s direction, and they would send letters regarding any inquiry they could not settle themselves.
Anne settled back with a contented sigh, the plush squabs comfortable at her back.
It was not so chilly that the carriage needed bricks to heat it; the close confines and the several bodies within serving that purpose already.
“Will we be seeing Grandmamma?” six-year-old Nicholas Ellsworth piped up as the carriage passed the parsonage, which was still dark and quiet.
Anne glanced at her husband and then said, “No, my dear. We have a long way to go to reach Pemberley and do not have time to stop in London to visit Lady Catherine. We will be stopping in Hertfordshire tonight, at a place called Longbourn, and will sleep there before continuing our journey north tomorrow.”
Her little Isaac, who was curled up at her side, looked up with a wrinkled brow. “Lon’burn?” he repeated.
“Longbourn, yes,” she said, ruffling his curly locks with one fond hand. “Do you remember Mrs. Priscilla Collins?”
“She makes such wonderful apple tarts!” Nicholas exclaimed.
Anne laughed and said, “Indeed, she does. Well, her husband, Mr. Collins, inherited the estate of Longbourn a year ago, and we are going to visit them tonight.”
“Tarts!” Isaac repeated, his eyes glowing. “Want tarts!”
“We will see whether there will be tarts,” Anne said with a chuckle.
“Isaac, come over here and let me hold you,” Josiah suggested. “I can see you are tired from rising so early. You can take a nap.”
Anne stiffened at these words, only to be pleasantly surprised when the child obediently made his way into his father’s arms, whereupon he plugged his thumb into his mouth and closed his eyes.
She shared a look of surprise with Josiah, then smiled tenderly at the little boy.
All who knew him expected strident rebellion at the very mention of a nap, for young Master Isaac was generally of the opinion that there were too many deeply interesting matters occurring in the world that required his immediate attention to spare any time for unnecessary pursuits such as sleeping.
Perhaps it was the early hour that had Isaac submitting so peacefully to sleep.
Whatever it was, Anne was grateful. Nicholas, too, snuggled into his father’s side and soon appeared lost in a somnolent daydream, his eyes glazed and blinking slowly as he watched the landscape rolling by outside the carriage windows.
Josiah was quiet, looking content with his sons draped against him.
Anne watched her family, reflecting on her abundant blessings over these last few years.
So much had changed, starting when she had dared to journey north to stay at Pemberley with the recently married Darcys.
At the time, she had been possessed of no greater ambition than to slip her mother’s leash for a time and taste what freedom was like away from Lady Catherine’s autocratic eye and incessant tongue.
She had certainly not dreamed of striding about energetically on the paths of Pemberley, glowing with health, within mere months of her arrival.
No longer constantly enervated, she had been able to take an interest in life and join Elizabeth’s joy in brisk walks and the beauties of nature.
Lady Catherine had been correct on one count, rich food had always disagreed with Anne.
Her proposed solution of eating less of the rich foods she served had been ineffective.
The simple, hearty breakfasts and dinners of Pemberley had done wonders for Anne’s strength and appetite alike.
It was there that she had developed a taste for rambles through the garden, ending in a good, solid meal.
On another count, Lady Catherine had been appallingly wrong.
Anne had swiftly discovered that she need not be nearly so dependent on laudanum as her mother had always insisted was necessary.
She was not so afflicted by pain at Pemberley and felt no need for sedatives in order to be comfortable.
Once she had begun to reduce her use of laudanum, it had not taken long at all to forget about it entirely.
Anne had never missed the heavy lethargy it had induced, and reveled in her newfound ease of movement and surging energy levels.
Thus Anne had been in the best health of her life, flushed and rosy and exultant with it, when her cousin Richard Fitzwilliam had arrived at Pemberley accompanied by a friend and fellow colonel.
Josiah Ellsworth, like most men who had survived Waterloo, was wearied to exhaustion and sick of battle.
Darcy had invited him to his grand estate to rest and recover.
At Pemberley, the heartsick colonel had found healing in the idyllic gardens and fine old house and the quiet, attentive company of the Darcys’ other guest, Anne.
Thus a friendship had deepened into a courtship, and Anne had accepted his hand with pleasure.
She had known before they were married that she could repose perfect trust in her new husband.
And she had likewise known that he was a warrior.
Both of these points had been proven to her vividly upon her return to Rosings as a married woman, when she had stood by in awe and admiration as Josiah had waded gleefully into battle.
Lady Catherine had been loath to give up her control of Rosings, but it was legally Anne’s, and Josiah had been determined to see it pass into her hands.
The estate had needed a great deal of care after Lady Catherine had been ousted.
She had not been the most considerate landlord, and the tenant cottages and fences and fields and outbuildings all alike had stood in poor heart.
Josiah had sacked Lady Catherine’s steward, an obsequious and unimaginative sort of man who had been horrified at the changes proposed by the new owners.
Mr. Gates had been recommended by Josiah’s father and had proven more than satisfactory thus far.
Isaac snuffled in his sleep and stirred, and Josiah patted him gently back into a deeper repose.
Anne smiled across at them with deep tenderness.
There had been a time once when she had doubted that she would bear children.
Now she could not imagine life without her sons; strong, handsome, strapping boys that they were, rambunctious and healthy in all the ways she had not been as a child.
Her Josiah was as wonderful a father as he was a husband, and every day she was more and more grateful for him.
Her life had changed in many strange and magnificent ways, and she could not be happier.
***
Drawing Room
Gray Havens
Staffordshire
Noon
“Shall I put Arabella down for a nap, my lady?” the maid asked.
Lady Georgiana Balfour planted a gentle kiss on her infant daughter’s cheek and reluctantly handed her over. “Yes, thank you, Daisy.”
The maid took the babe and carried her off to the other room, to her cot.
Georgiana cast an absent look at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace and then jolted in surprise.
It was later than she realized, and her husband’s brother and his family were due to arrive about now.
She wanted to be downstairs to greet them.
She shook out her skirt and hastened down the corridor to the main staircase.
By the time she had descended one level, she could hear the sounds of familiar voices below her, and when she arrived on the main floor, she found her beloved Jonathon standing next to his brother Christopher Lewis, whose wife Kitty and a nursemaid were keeping a close eye on the two Lewis boys, who were running around with all the exuberance of their youth.
“Christopher, Kitty, children!” Georgiana cried out. “Good morning! I hope your journey was a good one?”
Kitty Lewis, formerly Kitty Bennet, laughed, “It was good, but then the journey here was less than an hour, which was not enough time for the boys to grow too weary of the trip.”