Chapter 26
Drawing Room
Rosings
Three Days Later
It was raining outside, and Anne was thankful for the warm fire in the drawing room.
Her idle gaze rested on the flames leaping and flickering in a joyous dance across the logs.
Somnolence wrapped around her shoulders like a warm blanket, a pleasant tiredness hanging heavy on her limbs.
She was already stronger than she had been a mere fortnight ago, thanks to her nearly daily walks in the sunshine.
For the past two days she had been able to stride through the grounds of Rosings arm in arm with Elizabeth Bennet, basking in warm sun and good friendship.
It was surprising, perhaps, that Lady Catherine had not caught on to their activities, but then again, Lady Catherine likely thought it impossible that her feeble daughter would ever dare to flout her.
Miss Bennet had cautioned Anne against exercising too strenuously and advised the occasional day of rest. Today, Anne was weary to welcome an excuse to stay indoors, as the rain pattered on the windows.
She would rest today and hope for sun again on the morrow.
She longed to work her way up to brisk daily walks such as Miss Bennet enjoyed.
Anne took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh of pleasure.
Her spirits were higher than they had been in as long as she could remember.
For her entire life, she had lived under a cloud of malaise and melancholy, anxiously obedient to her overbearing mother, ill and weak and frustrated by life.
Today she felt genuine promise for the future.
The knowledge that she would not be forced to marry Darcy was a weight lifted from her very soul, and her improved health was an added delight that promised its own sort of freedom.
If only she could escape her mother! Then indeed she felt she would want for nothing.
Or perhaps more reasonably, she might have wants, but she would be equal to facing them.
For now, however, such an escape must remain a distant goal.
Anne would be content with the smaller rebellions of exercising without her mother’s knowledge and holding sacred the knowledge that she would never marry her wealthy cousin.
The door opened, and Anne turned her head. Her mother, wearing an irritable expression, entered the room, and Anne smoothed her own face into one of vapid neutrality.
“Anne,” her mother said sharply, “you ought to go upstairs and change for dinner. I set dinner forward an hour so that Lord and Lady Metcalf and the Gouldings are able to return home before it is entirely dark.”
Anne blinked in confusion. “We are having guests for dinner?”
Her mother frowned hideously at her. “Yes, of course. I told you this morning at breakfast.”
“I do not remember that.”
Lady Catherine cast her eyes heavenward and said, “I really wish that you would listen to me, Anne. But then, with Darcy in the house, perhaps I am not surprised that your mind is elsewhere so often.”
Anne kept her face blank. It was true that she was not in the habit of listening to every word that came out of her mother’s mouth, but how could she when Lady Catherine talked so incessantly and said so little of importance?
She rose to her feet and said, “I will change.”
“When you are finished, come downstairs immediately.”
“Yes, Mother.”
***
Drawing Room
Thirty Minutes Later
Anne, now dressed in a soft green evening gown with a warm woolen shawl around her shoulders, entered the room and halted. Five visitors, along with Lady Catherine, were waiting within.
She was more or less familiar with all of them.
Viscount Metcalf and his wife visited often, as Lady Metcalf was Lady Catherine’s favorite crony.
Their eldest son, Mr. Harmon, was more of a surprise.
He was roughly of an age with Anne, but she had never been permitted to play with the other children of the local gentry in her youth, since she was considered too delicate for strenuous games.
In recent years, she had seen little of him, as he preferred to spend much of his time in London.
Now Anne could scarcely tear her fascinated gaze away from the young gentleman.
Lord and Lady Metcalf were finely dressed as befitted their station; only slightly less so than herself and her mother, for Lady Catherine could never bear to be outshone by another.
Mr. Harmon came dazzlingly close. His coat of blue superfine was more appropriate to a ball than to a quiet country dinner, his cravat was a veritable confection of complexity, and his quizzing glass was a thing of gilded beauty.
Anne finally managed to look away from this striking guest to take in the other couple, quieter and more retired than the lord and lady.
Stonehill, to the north of Rosings, was a small estate, and Mr. and Mrs. Goulding lived more modest lives than their neighbors.
Rarely were they honored with invitations to Rosings, and Anne knew them only slightly, but she liked them well enough.
They were at least quiet and polite, with none of Lady Catherine’s domineering ways or Lord Metcalf’s overwhelming joviality.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Lord Metcalf said, rising to his feet along with the other men, “Good evening.”
Anne curtsied and said, “Good evening.”
“Where is Mrs. Jenkinson?” Lady Catherine demanded.
“Unfortunately, she is not feeling well tonight,” Anne said.
“I see,” Lady Catherine said in a disapproving tone. Anne frowned. Mrs. Jenkinson was genuinely ill, and she would not permit her mother to berate her for staying in bed.
Well, she would try not to let her mother berate Mrs. Jenkinson. Whether she succeeded was … well, it was unlikely she would succeed.
“Anne,” Lady Catherine said, turning to look at the ticking clock on the mantle, “I think perhaps Darcy has lost track of time. Would you kindly go fetch him from the library?”
Anne stared at her mother in confusion. “You wish me to…”
“Yes, yes, go along,” her mother said with a saccharine smile. She turned to her guests and said, “My nephew Darcy is such a great reader, you know.”
“I am certain he is very pleased with your library, Lady Catherine,” Lady Metcalf said. “It is marvelous.”
“Oh yes, our library is remarkable indeed…”
Anne found it odd that she was being sent to fetch Darcy, instead of a servant, but she was pleased enough to do so, as it allowed her exercise and a few minutes away from her mother.
She climbed the stairs with far more ease than usual, walked briskly down one corridor, turned right at another corridor, opened the door to the library, and stepped inside.
Her cousin was seated by the fire, gazing into the dancing flames, but at the sound of her step, he turned to look at her and said, “Did you wish to speak with me about something, Anne?”
“Not this time,” she replied. “Lady Catherine wishes for you to join us in the drawing room in preparation for dinner.”
Darcy pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket, stared at it, and said, “My dear cousin, it is not yet four o’clock!”
“I know,” Anne said. “Mother said that our guests wish to return home early before it is fully dark.”
“We have guests?”
“Yes, Lord and Lady Metcalf and their eldest son, plus the Gouldings.”
Darcy rose to his feet, his brow furrowed. “Why did she not tell me earlier? I am not even dressed for dinner yet!”
“She said that she announced it at breakfast, but I did not hear her.”
Darcy shook his head in exasperation. “Well, I had best hurry.”
He strode over to the door, turned the knob, and pulled.
It did not open.
He tried again with more strength and then turned a puzzled look on Anne. “Did you lock the door?”
Her eyes widened, and she hurried over to the door. She pulled at it ineffectually and then turned toward Darcy. “I … no, of course I did not. I came in here, and I did not even shut the door behind me, since I knew we would be leaving!”
Darcy stared at her, and she stared back, and then the gentleman leaned down to peer through the keyhole.
“The keyhole is clear, with no sign of the key,” he said, straightening. “I believe we have been locked in.”
“You mean one of the servants accidentally…”
“I think it is likely that we were locked here on Lady Catherine’s orders.”
Anne stared in confusion, and then her blood froze in her veins.
“She is trying to compromise us,” she whispered.
“I fear so,” Darcy said, striding over to the window. They were two floors up, at least five and twenty feet from the ground. Jumping would result in broken bones, or worse.
“Darcy,” Anne said, her voice thick with anguish, “Mother invited those people specifically to be there when; oh, what are we going to do?”
“I do not know,” Darcy said with a sigh.
Anne blinked away tears and stalked over to the window.
She could not believe this was happening, but then again, she could.
Her mother must have discovered, somehow, that her daughter and nephew had decided against marrying, and being the strong-willed, arrogant, domineering woman that she was, she had engineered a compromise.
And unless a miracle occurred, it would work.
With five distinguished visitors to witness the impending scandal, there was little hope of keeping the matter silent, especially when her mother was determined to make it public.
“Where is Richard?” she demanded, turning toward Darcy.
The master of Pemberley grimaced. “Lady Catherine asked him to go to Hillbrow to look at some horses that she is thinking of purchasing for the stables here at Rosings.”
“Mother sent him out of the way,” she said wearily.
“Yes.”
She turned back toward the window. It was no longer rainy, but it was misty, and no one was in sight. Not that calling to one of the servants would do any good. He would speak to Lady Catherine, who would merely move up her plan to force…
Wait, who was that?
She struggled with the bolt on the window and then pushed it wide open.
“Elizabeth!” she called out. “Elizabeth!”