Chapter 10
Anne’s head pounded something fierce. Everything was spiraling in a downward orbit.
First with Miss Bennet’s sudden departure back to Hertfordshire over the news of her sister’s condition. Naturally, the official excuse was that her sister was ill, but Richard had told Anne the truth.
And now, somehow, Lady Catherine had used that knowledge to coerce Cousin Darcy into signing a watertight marriage settlement.
Anne did not understand it. She did not know the terms, and Darcy refused to tell her, only that he was obligated to go through with the marriage or face significant consequences for the woman he loved.
One thing that Anne knew, there was something to do with the new vacancy at Westerham.
On Thursday, poor Mr. Garbutt had finally succumbed to his illness and coughed his last wheeze.
Anne was sure that Toadface would swoop in on the man’s pretty parsonage and kick his widow out before the dust had settled on his grave.
She was very surprised when her mother informed her that a curate would be tending the parish over the course of the summer until the new rector was installed. Anne wondered who it could be.
Lady Catherine told her not to worry about such things, and that Mr. Collins would now be the one to perform her wedding.
Things were progressing much too rapidly on that score. Lady Catherine moved the wedding up by two whole weeks, having already obtained the necessary license. She seemed to be in a great hurry now to ensure that it took place, even greater than before.
“But why the rush, Mother?” Anne asked, trying to disguise the panic in her voice, when her mother delivered her the news in the drawing room.
Lady Catherine huffed. “I simply realized that there is no point in waiting any longer. The plans have all been made, and anyone of any importance will be there no matter which day it is, so you may as well marry tomorrow rather than wait two more weeks.”
“But Mr. Garbutt has just died,” Anne argued. “Will it not seem disrespectful to the members of his parish, to marry in his church so soon after his passing?”
“We are not in mourning for him. We are not his family. Nobody with any connection to him will be in attendance at your wedding. We are merely using the church of St. Mary’s for your wedding.
If it disturbs you so much, marry from here, at the chapel in Hunsford.
It will not be as dazzling, without the carving of the Last Supper to frame your vows, but it will be a small inconvenience if it assuages your guilt,” Lady Catherine said.
“I care very little whether I am married from here or from Westerham, as you well know,” Anne said, doing little to hold back the bite in her voice. “It is this whole wedding that I object to.”
Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. “Oh, not this again! Tell me once more how ungrateful you are for the protection of marriage, how you reject the security and financial stability your cousin can provide you, how you feel that love should play the greater part in choosing one’s spouse.”
Anne raised her voice. “It ought to! I do not love Cousin Darcy in the way that a wife ought to love her husband, nor does he love me in that fashion.”
“Love! Ha!” Lady Catherine scoffed. “I did not love your father either, when I married him.
Successful marriages are not born out of love, Anne.
They are born out of the union between two compatible parties, both from respectable lineages, whose households and financial interests align.
Out of such a partnership, love may grow in time.
“But many a love has foundered due to a faulty marriage, wrought in passion and poor choices, where the parties concerned had no business uniting themselves. I have seen it to be so!”
Anne’s irritation rose. “I do not deny that you have, for there are many foolhardy lovers, but not all marriages born of love end in disaster. There are, too, those where the parties share both mutual compatibility and the deepest affection for each other.”
“And like a fairy tale, they live happily ever after. Yes, I am sure that somewhere, some of those marriages exist. But you had best prepare yourself, because tomorrow is your wedding day, and you will be getting married,” the great lady declared.
“It is completely unfair!” Anne burst, unable to contain her rage any further. “Why should Cousin Darcy and I be forced to wed when I– when he is in love with someone else?" She clamped her mouth shut again, silently cursing herself for her slip of the tongue.
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she drew nearer.
"My child, you have no idea the struggles I have gone through to ensure that this wedding takes place.
Darcy has accepted his duty to marry you.
He will look after you even when I am gone.
Besides, you did not object before. All the years I have planned this union since your childhood, you accepted without complaint that this was to be your destiny.
I do not see why you are raising such a fuss all of a sudden.
He will not be unfaithful to you on account of the little Bennet chit. "
“I know that there is no one more faithful or loyal than Cousin Darcy.” The audacity of her suggestion sickened Anne. "Things are different now. I did not know then that Darcy was in love with someone else. And I had thought that…"
"You had thought what?"
"Never mind," Anne answered. She had come so close to revealing her attachment to Richard. If she told her mother, would it make any difference?
She recalled a time, about a year prior, when she asked Lady Catherine what she thought of Richard’s prospects.
“Prospects? He has none,” the lady had said. Unless his brother should die, poor Richard must rely on the strength of his family lineage to secure him an heiress. His income from the army is but a pittance.”
“He would do well then, with someone like me, who is already in possession of a fortune and an estate”, Anne had put forth hopefully.
“Someone like you, certainly. But not you, Anne, dearest. You, my darling, are destined for greater things. You shall have Pemberley. I shall see to it, with my last breath, if I must. Richard can shift for himself. There are plenty of heiresses in London. With his easy manners and good humor, he can have his pick of them”, Lady Catherine finished.
With bitterness, Anne realized that Richard would never be good enough in her mother’s eyes, not while Darcy stood ready to offer Pemberley as a prize. Her thoughts snapped back to reality at the sharp tone in her mother’s voice.
"I would think that after all I have done for you, you would be just a little more grateful.
" Her cane thumped as she paced the drawing room.
“Here I am, offering you the world on a platter, and you wish to discard it for the sake of love,” she spat.
“Well, my dear, love will not maintain you when I am gone. Who in the world will care for you as I have?”
Anne knew who would, but she would not answer. To shout his name in her mother’s face would do her no good now. No amount of reason would make Lady Catherine relinquish her plans.
But Anne had a plan of her own. If Darcy could not elope, she and Richard would.
S
Jenkinson’s instructions were simple. She was to retrieve the Reynolds painting from the drawing room and replace it with the portrait of Sir Lewis de Bourgh that hung in Lady Catherine’s study.
This, in turn, would be replaced with a smaller piece from the attics.
If they were caught moving the paintings, Anne’s excuse would be that she wished to see her father’s face more often.
As soon as she had the opportunity, Jenkinson was to pawn the Reynolds in Westerham.
If the shop would give even half of its worth, it should be plenty to secure Anne and Richard for some time to come.
Jenkinson was also charged with consolidating Anne’s hoard of coins for travel convenience, hoping the pawn shop would come to their assistance again to avoid the attention and unwanted questions that a bank visit might draw.
Lady Catherine and Anne were downstairs with the modiste, conducting the final fitting of Anne’s new bridal gown before the ceremony.
Lady Catherine had insisted on the expense, to Anne’s dismay.
It was a wondrous creation of delicate crepe material, overlaid with a fine georgette, embroidered in real gold threads.
Too beautiful to waste. Jenkinson determined that she would pack it away in Miss de Bourgh’s trunks that night.
If not for her wedding to Mr. Darcy, it would find a use in Scotland, in her new life as Mrs. Richard Fitzwilliam.
In the middle of the afternoon, the drawing room was empty. No one even saw Mrs. Jenkinson take the Reynolds down from its place and carry it off to her room. If she hurried, they might not notice it was missing until after she had replaced it with the other portrait, Jenkinson thought.
She went to Lady Catherine’s study and easily picked the lock with a pair of her sturdy hairpins.
Her Ladyship would simply think she had forgotten to lock it.
The portrait of the late master hung where it had since his death, above the fireplace that faced the desk.
Jenkinson reached to take it down, and blinked in surprise as it scraped something hard and metal concealed behind it.
An iron safe box, hidden in a secret recess behind the painting!
Jenkinson’s heart raced. She knew it could contain valuables that would assist Anne in her escape.
Should she pick the lock? It might prove more difficult than the door had, but not impossible.
After a few minutes of jimmying, the latch popped open.
Finally thankful for her father’s less-reputable lessons, Jenkinson stared in wonder at the thick pile of banknotes in the box.
Lady Catherine’s distrust of banks was known among the staff.
This must be where one of her emergency funds had been stashed, she surmised.
It would not be stealing, Jenkinson reasoned, if she took these for Anne’s use.
No, merely borrowing against her future inheritance.
She counted out the sum. Four-thousand pounds; the very amount that Lady Catherine had used to try to bribe Miss Bennet with.
“The Lord delivers justice as He sees fit,” she murmured, stuffing the full wad of bills into her bodice before closing up the safe, then putting up the smaller painting over it.
The portrait of Sir Lewis she hung above the drawing room mantle, before heading to Westerham to complete her errands.
Miss de Bourgh would be a rich bride when she began her new life, indeed!