Chapter Eighteen
1 December, 1811
Rosings Park, Kent
Anne de Bourgh locked her bedroom door and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning her forehead against the polished oak for a moment as she let her mother’s strictures ebb and fade. Then she turned to look at Penelope, who sat at the desk in the corner, scribbling away.
Penelope’s loose blonde curls spilled over her shoulder, and she furrowed her brow. “Are you ill, my dear?”
“How could I not be, with such a mother?”
Penelope set down her quill pen and hastened toward Anne. “Are you hurt?”
Anne had no wish to worry the one person who cared for her, but by unconsciously raising her fingers to the cheek where her mother had given her a slap, she answered Penelope’s concern. “It was far from her worst – it was nothing.” She turned around, gesturing for Penelope to attend to the buttons she could not reach. “She thinks I spend too much time with you.”
Penelope breathed out a soft, bitter laugh as her nimble fingers made quick work of removing Anne’s silk dinner gown. “The alternative being what, exactly? Nobody else is good enough to be in her presence, and therefore yours, except your tedious relations and ancient neighbors.”
“Fortunately, Darcy is hundreds of miles away, and the Fitzwilliams are at Bolswick Abbey, mourning my late uncle. We are in mourning, too, though it is not any different from when we are not . I suppose I can bear the deprivation of our dusty old neighbors for conversation about how young people behaved much better half a century ago.”
“ Your behavior is not the problem – I daresay it never was.” Penelope tugged the sleeves down from Anne’s shoulders, her hands brushing gently over the fading bruises left by Lady Catherine’s walking stick on the day Anne had tried to refuse her engagement to Darcy.
Anne closed her eyes as Penelope’s comfort washed over her. Before her dearest friend had come to live with them, Anne had been utterly alone, and had often convinced herself that she imagined her mother’s cruelty. There had been a sort of solace in that, but she preferred the commiseration of her companion.
“I only want to forget about it for a little while,” Anne sighed.
Penelope continued her ministrations, her soft fingers lingering as they slid down Anne’s waist, letting the gown fall to the floor in a satisfying billow of grey silk. “I must be a bad influence on you; I have made you the wickedest creature to ever walk these halls, I am sure.”
“And filling my head with wild ideas about how things shall be in a couple short years, when I can be as wicked as I choose.” Anne turned around so that Penelope could remove her stays.
“Your pretty little head.” Penelope placed a quick kiss on Anne’s forehead. “Has she grown suspicious of us?”
Anne shook her head. “She believes herself very shrewd, and it is easiest to let her have her triumph, even when she is only old and mean, and maddeningly stubborn. These derelict badgers she consorts with may have been the picture of virtue in their youth, but she and her ilk have only grown greedy and prejudiced. Mother believes you will teach me to be pert and insolent to Darcy and drive him away.”
Penelope rolled her eyes with a look of distaste. “I thought she likes you better when you are as mean-spirited as she.”
“Generally, yes, but you know how she is when she gets into one of her moods. Whatever I am saying or doing or even thinking is unequivocally wrong.” Anne screwed up her face, determined to ease the anxiety of the evening with the playful banter she cherished. “This will amuse you – old Lady Clarendon posits that if I bring you to Pemberley with me when I am wed, you will seduce my husband and steal his affections away from me, for you are younger and more buxom than I. Who indeed would not desire you?”
Penelope winked at Anne for the compliment, then screwed up her face. “Did you tell her he would do well to take a mistress? Surely it is a tradition their generation must venerate.”
Anne let out a hum of contentment as her confining garments were all stripped away, and then raised her arms as Penelope slid a nightgown over her with a gentle caress. “I simply reminded her that we promised your aunt Mrs. Jenkinson on her deathbed to look after you. Nothing so easy as playing to her pride. We are honor bound to keep you very close .”
She grabbed Penelope by the hips and pulled her into a kiss. Penelope wrapped her arms around Anne and began tugging her hairpins loose. When her mousy brown tresses fell free about her shoulders, Anne shook them out and examined the thin, almost sheer nightdress embroidered with gold and silver vines.
“I do not recognize this one. It is very fine, though a little racy.” She smiled at Penelope, the only person in the world who managed to make her feel almost pretty.
“An early Christmas gift – I ordered it when we were in London. It broke my heart when your mother burnt both the gowns the dowager countess gave you for your birthday. But this she will never see – only I shall ever admire you in it.”
Anne’s heart leapt at the sight of Penelope surveying her. “It must have been very dear.”
“Do not fret over the expense – I still have a very tidy sum from my aunt, for emergencies or special occasions. You are both.”
Anne threw herself back onto the bed, the strain of another day under her mother’s dictatorship melting away in the privacy of her candlelit bedroom and the company of her favorite person. “The modiste must have been scandalized.”
Penelope smirked. “I borrowed a ring of yours and made up a story about my new fiancé, and how much I wished to please him.”
Anne snorted and made a face of disgust. “We live to please the men, do we not? Lady Clarendon fears you too adept at such things. How I wished to give the old bat apoplexy with the truth, that you would sooner be my mistress than Darcy’s!”
“I wish no blood on my hands, thank you very much. In fact, I have devoted my evening to pleasing one gentleman in particular.” Penelope moved to the desk and picked up a letter she had been composing. “It has been more than a fortnight since he has written to you, and a frequent correspondence with you was part of the agreement.”
“ Their agreement. It was ordained by God herself, my mother, when we were in our cradles. Ugh! I could throttle the odious man for finally capitulating to her. He held out for so long.”
“And now it is your turn to stall. Here, read it.” Penelope sat down on the bed beside Anne, kicking off her slippers as she curled her legs up and cuddled against her mistress.
Anne scanned the letter Penelope had composed to Darcy for her. It was brief and cordial at best, but still more of an effort than Anne’s absolute refusal to comply. A surge of resentment rose in her chest and she flexed the fingers of her left hand, the one she had once favored, until her mother sought to correct that evil sign of deviance.
“I know, it is not very good,” Penelope said with a sigh. “I despise him perhaps more than you do, as I would any man who shall soon be bedding you against your wishes, against your very inclination.”
“Perhaps that is what we should write,” Anne said with a look of mischief as she laid her head on Penelope’s shoulder and gazed up at her. “Dear Cousin Darcy, I have no wish to bear you heirs, and likely die in the process, so that you can put on a good show of mourning me and then secretly revel in the liberty of choosing any woman you like to replace me, for you are master of the universe, after all.”
Penelope laughed and shook her head. She idly stoked Anne’s shoulder, her expression growing thoughtful. “I had a different idea I should like to put to you.”
“I hope it is one that has more to do with removing your clothes as I have done, and less with any thought of bedding my dreary cousin.”
Penelope sat up and curled her knees up against her chest. “I think you may like what I have to say. And if you do not, well, I can surely think of something you like….”
Anne gave a heady giggle as she sat up in a position mirroring her dearest friend. “Of course I will hear you. My darling, you are the only one I trust, and I would always know your mind.”
“Very well. Your cousin Darcy is to remain in Scotland until summer, is that not so?”
“Yes, I understand he is overseeing some renovations to the estate Richard inherited from his mother’s cousin.”
“And then he will likely take his sister to the seaside as he does every summer. And by summer’s end you shall be but a year from your majority.”
Anne could sense what Penelope meant to say, and she clung to the hope her lover offered. “And how am I to put him off for another year after that?”
“You will not have to. Ever the dutiful daughter, you will tell your mother you are ready to purchase your trousseau in London. And while we are in town, you will of course be attending dinners and parties, which may put you into the path of gentlemen superior even to Mr. Darcy. She will think it all her own idea for you to throw him over for another, and then you have but a year left to invent further delays by planning a grand wedding that you can cancel as soon as you come of age.”
“Cousin Rupert will be out of mourning for his father by then,” Anne mused.
“And how could your mother resist the temptation of seeing you made a countess?”
Anne considered the idea and nodded slowly. “The plan has merit. And the letters?”
“There could be no ill in retaining Mr. Darcy’s admiration for the time being. If the worst should happen – if our plans go awry – well, I suppose it would be better for you if the man you may yet be shackled to is at least fond of you, and inclined to be indulgent. I could not bear it if he mistreated you.”
Anne was about to speculate that she might simply endeavor to grow better acquainted with her cousin and perhaps make an ally of him, when Penelope became choked with emotion, as she had often been since Anne’s betrothal. Anne leaned over and wrapped her arms around the stunning creature, her heart rebelling against the fear that their domestic harmony might be disrupted.
“I do see the merit of remaining in Darcy’s good graces, and it will appease my mother, which is prudent. But I will not force such an odious task upon you, my darling. I will put a notice in the papers and find a writer of such talents as to hold him in thrall until I can replace him with another.”
“I was afraid you would be angry.”
“I am angry at my mother and Darcy for their high-handed bullying. I could never be cross with you, who must bear this calamity with me. But we are not to blame for the world’s cruelty – we are to be commended for adapting to it. We shall have to work out the particulars, but we can leave that for the morning”
Penelope smiled brightly. “Then let us go to bed, dearest, and you may shower me with more compliments on my brilliance. I am determined to earn them.”
***
22 October, 1812
The Golden Steed Inn, Newmarket
Anne sat down stiffly beside her cousin Rupert in the parlor. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“No, I do not intend to stay long, and I would rather the servants not know I was ever here – if your mother learned that we were alone together…. But I daresay that is her reason for bringing you here.”
“I am engaged to Darcy.”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “But I am a better match now that my mourning has ended. She has made no secret of her interest in making you a countess.”
“And you object? Surely you and I are better suited. We have more common pursuits, and I have taken an eager interest in your social circle and your sporting abilities.”
Rupert smiled weakly. “And I am pleased that you have been given liberty to move more in the world. Last evening at Sir Sidney’s soirée, for instance, you were marvelously lively and animated; I have never seen you make so free with yourself. Indeed, you spoke very candidly to my sister Roberta when you were in your cups.”
Anne shifted nervously on the sofa. “Forgive me, I do not recall.”
“That is unsurprising; you had a great deal to drink. Enough to cause you to make certain comments about your disinterest in Darcy – about your true interest lying… elsewhere .”
“It is true that I have no special regard for Darcy.”
Rupert leveled a stern gaze at Anne. “I think you know what I refer to. I do not judge, you, Anne. With such a mother, you are entitled to whatever happiness you can manage, and you have but a year until you need not live at Lady Catherine’s mercy. But I wed for duty the first time, and if I marry again, I want a true marriage, to a woman I love as you do Miss Lovelace. And, Anne, Darcy deserves the same as well. He is a good man.”
“Please, please do not tell him,” Anne cried. “It must remain a secret. If my mother were to find out, I cannot bear to think what might happen to me, and to Penelope. Surely she would be sent away from me, and my heart would be broken.”
“You have my word,” Rupert said, resting a hand on his heart as he regarded Anne with pity.
Anne gave him a grateful nod and then fidgeted with the lace trimming on her gown. “I do not know what to do. I have put Darcy off for as long as I can. I had hoped that Mother might seize the opportunity to make me a countess, and then I could start over with another year of stalling. Would you not consider it? We need not actually marry.”
“I could not do that to Darcy, and I would not wish it for myself. What if I meet the woman I truly wish to marry, and am not at liberty to pursue her because of my obligation?”
“I know all about what that is like,” Anne sighed. “I would not wish you the same distress, as much as it might make matters easier for myself.”
Rupert leaned back against the sofa and drew a flask out of his coat pocket. He took a drink and then passed it to Anne, who did likewise. “I did not come here to disappoint you. I have given the matter some thought, and I believe I can help you.”
“You could help me by feigning some little interest to my mother. Darcy need never know.”
“There is another way. Sir Sidney Parker has taken an interest in you. He spoke to me last night after dinner to ascertain whether I would be offended if he were to pay you his addresses.”
“Sir Sidney Parker,” Anne mused. He was newly knighted, but a second son with no estate of his own. His tastes were lavish and his pursuits were not the most wholesome, but he was amiable, even boisterous, and merriment seemed to follow him. Most women regarded him as exceptionally handsome; Anne could at least admire the fine work of his tailor, and his horsemanship was boastworthy. He would be an amusing companion. “My mother would never consider him a better option than Darcy.”
Rupert grinned. “Does that not add to his allure a little bit?”
“His disposition is more pleasing. Rosings is so dreary, the company utterly tedious, especially since my mother gave the living at Hunsford to that babbling toady. Sir Sidney keeps amusing company and is fond of japes and revelry. If I did have to marry somebody, I should be better suited to him than to Darcy. And he strikes me as a man who is not too honorable to take a mistress, so I would not be disappointing him with my staggering lack of interest in wifely duties; he would be much occupied in his own activities, leaving me to mine.”
“That is an apt description of most marriages I have ever heard of, though not the sort I desire,” Rupert said, chuckling ruefully. “But as you say, you need only stall him until you come of age.”
“Could I hold his interest for so long as that?” Anne frowned as she glanced down at herself. Stalling had indeed been a safer tactic than outright rebellion, when it came to avoiding her mother’s harsh and arbitrary punishments. But Anne knew that she was not especially comely; her figure was neither tall and elegant nor beguilingly curvaceous. Anne was plain and drab to everyone but Penelope.
Rupert made a droll face. “You are the heiress to a magnificent estate and a mighty fortune, which would complement his new title very well indeed. You cheered for him at the races purely to vex your mother, of which he was fully aware, and I believe he rather liked the mischief of it. Her disapproval will excite and tantalize him.”
“ Her disapproval will only make her tighten her grasp on me; she will see me wed to Darcy before I can come of age and break it off.”
“She cannot force you.”
“Perhaps not legally, but in every other way she is quite capable of compelling me to whatever her whim. She controls the estate that is to be mine, the funds, my wardrobe, my companion, my very person. She wields the power to do a great deal of harm to me if I am not compliant.”
Rupert leaned forward in a ponderous pose. “I feel obligated to do something . Could we not bring you to London? End your engagement to Darcy – the delay will only pain him. Lady Catherine could do you no harm if we got you and your Miss Lovelace away from Rosings.”
“She would only vent her ire and malevolence on Rosings itself. I am sure she would rather destroy the place than see me supplant her as mistress next year. Already she has made such irrevocable decisions as will hurt the estate for years to come. Could you not simply postpone disappointing her for a while longer?”
Rupert nodded with a look of unbearable sympathy. “I intend to invite the whole family to Bolswick Abbey for Christmas. I will not discourage your mother, though I will reassure Darcy, if necessary, that I have no intention of poaching his bride.”
The notion of a Christmas visit filled Anne with dread. She had not seen Darcy since their engagement was formed, though Miss Lucas’s letters still appeased him. She may have to maintain that charade a while longer, until she could figure out how to proceed.Her mind raced, grappling for some solution.
“I enjoy Sir Sidney’s company and envy his style of living. I shall make an effort to give him every encouragement while we are in Newmarket. And after Christmas, I might invent some reason to go to London and see more of him, perhaps even feign some ghastly illness that requires a lengthy visit to that seaside town he is always speaking of – what is it, Sandringham?”
“Something like that,” Rupert said with a dismissive wave.
“Perhaps I shall see enough of Sir Sidney in London next spring that Darcy will hear of it and release me from the engagement,” Anne mused. “I do not wish to wound him or anger him – someday I may need him as an ally against my mother – but I do not know how I can continue to placate him and yet convince him we are not well-suited.”
“It may serve you well that Roberta is so inclined to gossip; a letter from her to Georgiana about your partiality to Sir Sidney may move Darcy to release you from the engagement, and then your mother cannot force the matter. I hope it is handled gently, for Darcy’s sake.”
“It would certainly be easier if he let me go. You will have to forgive me for my lack of sympathy toward his feelings, when he gave me no consideration at all in arranging our betrothal. I cannot fathom why he finally gave in to my mother’s officious raillery about family and duty and honor; I had thought him as impervious to it as I am.”
“For your sake, I shall bear her attempts to court me on your behalf – for now. And I shall try to help you along with Sir Sidney.” Rupert gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and waggled his brows mischievously. “Golly, I rather enjoy contriving such intrigue against Lady Catherine!”
“It grows wearisome after nearly a quarter of a century, but I appreciate your enthusiasm for it at present,” Anne drawled. “Another eleven months, and then I will no longer have to expend all my energy on evading her tyranny and perpetual disappointment in me.”
***