Prologue #2
I am surprised to hear of Darcy’s engagement.
I had it on good authority from him the last we met that he would never marry; his very words were that he was “not in want of a wife, and not likely to be so anytime soon.” I can only assume his heart must have been thoroughly swayed, or that he has fallen into some compromising situation that demanded the satisfaction of his honor.
Either way, his situation bodes well for us, for your mother cannot put a claim on him for your sake once he is lawfully wed to another.
I only pray that his wedding takes place expediently and that Lady Catherine will not interfere as she is wont to do.
No news yet from the War Office regarding the position in London.
I had hoped by now to have a departure date from this wretched place.
We are long overdue for a leave-taking. But alas!
The lieutenant general tells me my regiment must return to Cádiz to support the troops there.
Our hope is that the siege will not outlast the summer, and if we succeed, my whole regiment will be given leave.
But autumn seems far off, and such a long absence would be torturous, to say the least.
Your suggestion to sell my commission is tempting, but I have my pride, and I would not for the world ruin your reputation by running away with you.
Think how it would look if the next mistress of Rosings Park were to elope with her paramour, my dear.
I hope that you can work upon your mother while I endeavor to find a way home.
Know that it is not for lack of missing you that I decline your proposal. I miss you so much, and long every moment to be in your embrace. Would that I could fly to you this instant on wings like a bird!
Life here at the garrison is very dull and the days grow weary and endless. I cannot think what present to send you in return for your kiss, as there is not much in the way of niceties. I have done my best to compose a little rhyme.
Fair maiden who sits upon her chair
Enthroned in beauty like a noble queen
Like burnished bronze is your lustrous hair
And brilliant emeralds, your eyes of green
Lovelier art thou than pearls upon a strand
If I had but the world to offer you
I would give to you my hand
For now, my Valentine, though we are so far apart
I hope you will always think of me
And cherish me in your heart
The form is a little lacking, to be sure, but I hope you shall appreciate it nonetheless. If I had more hours to devote to its completion, I am sure I could do it better justice, but the demands upon my time do not allow for as much idle as I could wish.
Always your beloved,
Richard
P.S. As I waited for the arrival of the mail ship to seal up your letter in case news from the War Office came, an offer of a different sort came for me.
I am presented with the opportunity to be of service to my country in France.
I cannot share the details of the assignment, lest this letter fall into the wrong hands, but suffice it to say, if all goes well, I shall be returning to you much sooner than the end of summer and will not have to rejoin my regiment.
The offer comes from someone very high up (you shall be alarmed when I tell you who!) and a letter was enclosed from my father assuring me that if I complete this mission to success, the War Office posting will await me in London when I return.
I do not fear the danger any more than I fear that of the battleground, and I relish the thought of living incognito.
Further exchanges between us will not be possible until I return, but you may direct all your letters to me at Matlock House. If all goes well, I shall be there in a matter of weeks to collect them!
S
Rosings Park, Kent
England, March 9, 1812
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam
Matlock House
Mayfair, London
My dear Richard,
While news of your assignment to France is welcome, I fear that it cannot come quick enough.
I know you will not receive this letter before your mission is complete. My only hope is that you return in time. A situation has arisen, and if you do not act, I shall be forced into marriage against my will.
Oh, what fits of agony I am in! Cousin Darcy’s engagement has come to naught! And the worst of it is, my mother had no part in its dissolution.
Not for lack of trying, mind you. In her determination, she drove to Hertfordshire to confront him.
She demanded to know once and for all whether he was engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet– as I have learnt her name is.
Darcy confessed they were engaged, but the lady had broken with him that very morning.
Mother did not require further explanation. She returned home satisfied, with a promise from Darcy that he would marry me in one month when he comes for Easter. Our engagement is now to be made official!
Richard, you must rescue me from this peril!
I pray daily that you will return swiftly from France in time to prevent this marriage from taking place.
You may carry me away to any part of the world you wish–The West Indies, America, Calcutta– I do not care.
Only do not let her force me to wed Cousin Darcy!
I have pleaded and begged, time and again, but she will not hear me. She insists that this is the only right course of action for my life, the only way to ensure that my future is secure.
My wedding date is set; I am to be married on the thirtieth of April. If you do not come to take me away before then, my fate will be sealed.
I write with a heart most achingly,
Anne
S
Rosings Park, Kent
England, March 23, 1812
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam
Matlock House
Mayfair, London
My darling Richard,
I grow more desperate by the day to hear news of your safe return from the Continent. Though fruitless, sending messages is my one comfort in these difficult times.
The day draws ever nearer when I am to wed Cousin Darcy. He is to arrive in three weeks’ time to prepare for the dreaded event. Have I any hope that you might return to me before then?
I hope I do not sound ungrateful. You know how dear Cousin Darcy is to me, but we can be no more than family.
Our union would inspire no passion, only loyalty and companionship.
These might have been enough, had I not tasted the love that can be found with a true meeting of the minds, a soul so like my own, we are as one.
This is what I have with you, my dearest Richard, a passion so profound, nothing could ever come close.
I can never be happy with another so long as you are in my life.
If you receive this letter before I am caught in the parson’s mousetrap, I beg you to spare me.
Mother tells me that the betrothal announcement shall be made in the London papers this week, and soon everyone shall know about my impending nuptials.
I confess, such tidings distress me even more, for the more people are told, the more difficult it shall be to extricate me from my predicament.
How I wish I were master of my own fate!
It irks me that my birthday is not until November, and that I am not one and twenty, for if I were, I could marry where I will, without regard for parental governance.
But you and I know that there are ways around that.
I beg you to consider them, for I would happily be married over an anvil if it meant a lifetime of joy with you.
You must wonder why I have not written to Darcy himself to ask for an end to our engagement.
In truth, I have begun to compose the letter a hundred times, only to crumple it up.
To own my regard for you would bring me no shame.
But I know that he could not call off our wedding without the whole of it being laid bare to my mother.
The only alternative would be to cry off with no explanation and tarnish my honor– and we both know that Darcy could never do that!
But my greatest fear is that if Mother should learn of my strong attachment to you, she would employ all her arts to ensure that I wed Darcy at any cost. She would keep me locked away, like that poor maiden in the tower from the fairy tale, until she could make me marry him.
We both know there is no end to her cunning!
If Cousin Darcy himself should decide to cry off, it would be another matter entirely… but I hope for too much, I fear.
No, I have considered every angle. My only hope is for you to come to me. I pray that you are able to, before my hour is up.
Your most desperate beloved,
Anne
S
Rosings Park, Kent
England, March 30, 1812
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam
Matlock House
Mayfair, London
My dearest, dearest Richard,
Forgive my trembling hand, for I am utterly in the depths of despair!
In one short month, I am to become Mrs. Darcy if you do not interfere.
I can think of little else, for anytime my thoughts become distracted, my mother never fails to remind me of her constant, glowing pride–and my constant, suffocating dread.
I torment myself with thoughts of your fate.
I snatch up the papers daily to scan them for news of you, always with a prayer of gratitude when your name does not appear among those lost to the cause.
Of course, there would be no pronouncement if you are captured and lie imprisoned in some tower in France.
I try my best not to let my imagination run away with me, and instead to picture you homeward bound, your eager countenance ready to greet me and save me from my misery.
Tell me, Richard, will you send notice to me when you arrive?
Or will you simply steal away in the night, like a phantom, to carry me off before this nightmare can be realized?
I would not mind the latter, especially as it would absolve me of any guilt to simply pretend I had been kidnapped and made to marry you by force.
I know I must amuse you, my love, to sound like a gothic novel, but the truth is, I grow more desperate by the hour!
A rescue at the hand of a masked man would not seem at all amiss, even if it reeks of Radcliffe.
You spoke in your last letter of appearing incognito, so I do not think my suggestion so far from reason.
However, whether you appear in such disguise or as your dear self, I shall be happy to see you regardless.
I do not think I can bear it if we are eternally separated.
I pray daily for your safe return and that when it comes, we shall at last be together.
Your most beloved,
Anne