Chapter 1
Richard’s heart twisted itself into a knot as he sat across from Darcy on the comfortable seats of the latter’s private traveling coach. How could he confess to being in love with Anne when Darcy was on his way to marry her in less than three weeks?
Richard mentally cursed that he had not received Anne’s letter informing him of her engagement to Darcy until weeks after it was written.
The assignment which had taken him undercover to France had allowed him to return home quicker than his ordinary military service would have, having satisfied the demands of King and Country, but meant that he could receive no correspondence until it was completed.
The delay gave Lady Catherine ample opportunity to publicize the engagement between Anne and Darcy in the newspapers and inform all her neighbors about it. To break the engagement between them now would cause scandal and harm to Anne’s reputation.
“Is something troubling you, Richard?” Darcy’s voice broke his somber reflections.
Richard schooled his expression. “No, nothing at all. Merely mentally preparing myself to face our aunt.”
Darcy’s throat let out a rumble. “Yes, one always finds themself in need of fortification before a meeting with her.”
Richard longed to ask Darcy about his other engagement—the one to that Bennet girl that Anne had mentioned in her letters, but thought wisely that doing so might bring up too much past hurt.
There had to be some reason why Darcy would immediately capitulate to their aunt’s demands for him to marry Anne after so many years of refusing to do so, on the very day that his other engagement was broken.
It did not make sense.
Nor did it make sense for Richard to torment himself by visiting his lady-love when she was betrothed to another.
But he had to see her nonetheless.
Marriages among cousins were all fine among the upper classes. But why did she have to be engaged to the wrong cousin!
He lamented, not for the first time, his lack of fortune and estate.
If he had these things, Lady Catherine would not have looked down upon him as an unworthy suitor for her daughter’s hand, a pitiful second son, whose career in the military rendered him too poor to be considered for the heiress of Rosings Park.
Not even his status as a member of the Fitzwilliam family made him good enough in her eyes.
Pathetic, all things considered, since Anne’s fortune ought to be enough to sustain them both!
The coach passed through a wide set of wrought iron gates marked with a large R, then suddenly the imposing Neoclassical edifice of Rosings Park loomed before them.
Six footmen lined up to greet them, along with the butler, housekeeper, and a dozen other servants.
They were immediately shown into the drawing room, where Lady Catherine sat upon her velvet chair, holding court like a queen, her heavy jeweled cane resting in her lap like a scepter.
Richard’s eye caught Anne’s for a moment and a lump formed in his throat.
Her mother bade her to welcome Darcy first, reminding her of the upcoming wedding, as if it were a thing that could be forgotten, then allowing each of the gentlemen to return the greeting with a kiss to her cheek.
Richard gave the familial gesture, heartily wishing he were kissing her lips instead of her cheek.
But he would take whatever comfort he could, breathing in the scent of her floral perfume and squeezing her hand as he pressed his lips to her soft skin.
With her other hand, she deftly slipped a piece of tightly folded paper into his palm. He was keen enough to tuck it away inside the cuff of his sleeve before Lady Catherine could notice it. He would read it away from her prying eyes later.
Mrs. Jenkinson vacated the sofa and moved to the chair opposite so the gentlemen could sit together on it. Richard gratefully took the seat closest to Anne’s bath chair.
Lady Catherine began asking Darcy a series of questions about his sister Georgiana, affording Richard the chance to steal a longer look at his beloved.
She had grown thin and haggard. Her bones were practically visible, and her beautiful green eyes had taken on a sunken look to them. Had she even been eating? She naturally had a slight build, but now she looked so small, he feared a breeze might carry her away.
Anne smiled warmly at him. “Your safe return brings me much joy, Richard. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you alive and well. This past month has been especially…difficult.” She looked away, and he thought he could discern a tear sliding down her cheek.
She blinked rapidly. Her expression quickly returned as she looked back at him.
“Will you be staying at Rosings long?” she asked.
“I will remain until your wedding,” he told her, feeling the weight in his belly as the words came out.
Her smile fled again. “Yes, my wedding.” She cast him a pleading look as if to say, Is there not some way I can escape this?
They had no more time to speak. Lady Catherine commanded him to change places with Darcy, so the latter could sit beside his bride, then engaged Darcy and Anne on a variety of subjects, essentially excluding Richard from the conversation.
Mrs. Jenkinson attempted a discussion with him, inquiring about the weather on his journey across the channel and asking questions about his time abroad which he felt unequal to answer at present.
Fortunately, she was satisfied with his general answers on such topics until they were summoned to dinner.
S
Dinner taxed Anne’s patience. Lady Catherine wished only to speak of her plans for the wedding, her preferences for the menu, the flowers, guest list, and so on.
Everything was fixed in her mind, and preparations were underway for an extravagant celebration.
What’s worse, she had concocted the idea of celebrating the betrothal with a large dinner party and had invited over half the neighborhood.
Not that it mattered. Everyone of importance was already well aware of the impending union, thanks to Lady Catherine’s announcement of it in the papers.
Anne looked across the table to see how her betrothed felt about the plans being dictated for them. He wore an expression of blank resignation, as though once he had accepted his fate none of the details mattered.
Against the rise of indignation that threatened to succumb her, she blinked back her tears and choked down a large bite of turnip with such force that Jenkinson patted her on the back and urged her to eat more slowly.
Lady Catherine seemed not to notice, only to turn from the topic of the ceremony music to what color the bride ought to wear for her wedding.
“It ought to be silver or gold, I feel, but which looks more regal with your complexion, I do not know. Princess Caroline was married in silver, you know, but that was seventeen years ago. The price of gold is more dear, but I cannot count the cost when it comes to my darling child's wedding…”
She continued on in this fashion, oblivious to the pain it occasioned said darling child.
There was one who observed it, however. Beneath the table, Richard extended his hand and grasped Anne’s fingers.
His soothing touch assuaged a little of the anxiety that Anne felt at the loss of control over her own life.
She spared him a warm expression, allowing her own fingers to squeeze his in return, safely hidden from view, a silent message of love delivered to him.
More would come later, but for now, it was enough to have him near her.
Lady Catherine drew Richard’s attention with a question, as if suddenly realizing she had another nephew present and had been remiss in her attention to him.
Richard pulled his hand free to take a drink from his wine glass before answering her.
The inquiry pertained to his recent travails against Napoleon.
His answers were succinct, vague, and conveyed little of what he had actually accomplished on the Continent.
He mentioned Tarifa, but gave no account other than what was generally known from the papers and which Anne knew from his correspondence.
Nothing was said of France, and when asked of his present plans, he said only that an offer waited for him at the War Office whenever it was convenient for him to accept it.
His remarks caused Anne to feel the distance between them. The long months apart had cut deep grooves into her soul, especially in the final months when she had no word from him at all, and feared he might never return. How many nights had she spent crying herself to sleep over it?
Feelings of abandonment rose up within her, unbidden.
Although she reminded herself that his presence was proof of his constancy, she worried that things might be altered between them.
Her letters had been full of love and desperate pleas for his safety and swift return, but her heart held a bit of resentment.
More than once, she had cursed his commitment to his sworn duties to the Crown, which had prevented him from being by her side when she needed him.
What’s more, the long separation had begun to plague her mind with doubts.
Suppose his feelings for her were no longer what they once were?
She was an invalid, whose life was controlled by a dragon of a mother.
Aside from a house and a fortune, what had she to offer a man like Richard?
Would he even answer her summons to join him in secret in her chambers later on?
After so many months apart, perhaps he had reconsidered their liaison and was ready to consign her over to his cousin.
Lady Catherine had resumed her discussion of the wedding plans.
“...and of course, Darcy shall need someone to stand up with him at the altar. You will do it, won’t you, Fitzwilliam?”
Richard cleared his throat. “Er, certainly, it would be my honor.”
Frowning, Anne attacked her turnips with her fork one by one.