Chapter 29
Drawing Room
Matlock House
London
Noon
The Next Day
“Sit down, both of you, and I will summon my mother,” Richard said.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Mrs. Jenkinson said and then turned to her charge. “Take that chair by the fire, Miss de Bourgh, and warm yourself.”
Anne meekly obeyed her companion's gentle chivvying and sank down into the velveteen chair that Mrs. Jenkinson turned towards the fire.
She leaned back against the plush winged back of the chair, exhausted and shivering.
It felt as though a knot of ice had formed in her belly, radiating cold through her body and setting her limbs in a quiver.
It was not really cold, of course, as Lord and Lady Matlock kept their house comfortably warm.
She was in shock over the events of the last day.
A strange sense of surreality had seized her, starting with her mother’s attempt to compromise her and Darcy in the library, followed by Richard’s escape plan for this very morning.
They had crept from the house and borrowed one of the Rosings carriages, unseen by her mother or any of the indoor servants.
Lady Catherine rarely descended from her bedchamber before ten o’clock, and by then the party had been well on its way to London.
It had been strange to drive down the familiar lane in hushed and furtive silence, and Anne had found herself straining her ears for any sound of pursuit.
They had passed by Hunsford, the parsonage still and silent.
Down the tree-lined drive they had continued, the boughs above them heavy and damp with dew.
It had all been so very familiar, and then, as they rolled along the road to London, it was not anymore.
Anne rarely left Rosings, and she had stared in fascination out of the windows as they traveled, first through the countryside, then through the outskirts of London, and then into Mayfair itself, to Matlock House.
It had all gone so smoothly. Indeed, Anne thought, she feared it had gone too smoothly.
One did not defy Lady Catherine without consequences.
This was compounding defiance with defiance; refusing to marry Darcy, sneaking away from Rosings, fleeing to London and her relations there.
Even now, Anne caught herself twitching nervous glances out the window, in constant expectation of seeing her mother burst through the door, plum-faced and roaring with fury, ready to drag Anne back to Rosings.
Richard had assured her that no such thing would be permitted to happen, by himself or his father.
Lord Matlock was the head of the family and was quite capable of making his strident sister listen to him.
Anne believed Richard, and yet she knew that Catherine de Bourgh would do everything in her power to drag her daughter back under her control.
She could not even imagine, not really, a life free from Lady Catherine's dominion.
“I asked a servant to send in a tea tray,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, settling herself into a chair across from Anne. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I ought to be asking you that,” Anne said. “I feel badly for bringing you onto a carriage early this morning after your illness.”
Mrs. Jenkinson frowned and said, “I am quite certain that the colonel is correct, that Lady Catherine drugged me with laudanum in my tea, so I am very thankful to be far from that house and its mistress.”
Anne sighed and said, “I am so very sorry. Did your tea taste odd, then?”
“Very oddly, but since Lady Catherine served me herself, I forced myself to drink it. You know that she would have remonstrated with me if I wasted money by not drinking her tea.”
This was true, and in the midst of Anne’s terror, she felt a stab of genuine fury. Laudanum could be dangerous, and Lady Catherine had not hesitated to drug Mrs. Jenkinson as part of her plot to compromise Anne and Darcy. It was despicable.
The door opened at this moment, and Lady Matlock, short and slim and dressed charmingly in patterned muslin, bustled inside, her pretty face flushed with indignation.
“My dear niece!” she cried out. “Richard has told me everything. Really, Lady Catherine is impossible sometimes! You will stay here as long as you like, and I have given orders that the housekeeper immediately prepare bedchambers for you and your companion. Now, now, pray do not cry!”
Anne was crying, rather to her surprise. At some level, she realized, she had been terrified that the Matlocks would turn her away, or worse yet, pressure her to marry Darcy. It was a relief to be welcomed so kindly.
“Mrs. Jenkinson,” Lady Matlock said, turning to the older woman who had risen at her hostess’s entrance, “I hope you will stay with my niece for the foreseeable future?”
“It would be my honor and pleasure to do so, my lady,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.
***
Sitting Room
Parsonage
Hunsford
Two Hours After Noon
For the tenth time in the last hour, Elizabeth glanced at the door. It remained shut.
“Lizzy,” Mary said gently, “William is entirely capable of handling Lady Catherine in a foul mood.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and said ruefully, “I know, but I hate that he is probably receiving a tongue-lashing from her ladyship because of what I did. I should have gone with him. I do not mind her reprehensible squawking. You know that my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
Mary chuckled and said, “I promise you that William is equally unaffected by Lady Catherine’s diatribes and is far better at soothing…”
She broke off as the door opened to reveal her husband, who entered with ruddy cheeks from the wind paired with a thoughtful expression.
Mary looked up, and Elizabeth thought that in spite of her sister’s confident words, she was anxious for her husband.
“Is everything all right, William?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied, walking over to sit down next to his wife. “Lady Catherine was too busy being angry at her daughter and nephews to bother remonstrating with me.”
“I can understand her outrage with Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said, “but why is she upset with Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
William’s lips curved up, and he said, “Mr. Darcy left last night, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss de Bourgh, and Mrs. Jenkinson crept out of Rosings early this morning and left somewhere in a carriage, leaving no note behind.”
Both ladies gasped, and Mary exclaimed, “Do you think it is an elopement, or…?”
“I have no idea,” William replied. “Lady Catherine is enraged, of course, but Miss de Bourgh is of age, and she has every right to leave Rosings if she likes.”
Elizabeth blew out a breath and said, “Well, I will miss them, but I am glad…”
Again, they were interrupted, this time by a maid, who stepped into the room and said, “Mrs. Collins, an express has arrived for you.”
Elizabeth jerked in alarm and saw in the faces of her relations equal distress. An express?
Mary reached out her hand to take the letter, her hand trembling. William and Elizabeth both watched as she carefully broke the seal, spread open the page, and began reading the words which, Elizabeth could see, were in Jane’s hand.
A long moment later, Mary turned entirely pale and lifted tear-filled eyes to her sister.
“It is Father. He … he died last night.”