Chapter Eighteen #2
5 March, 1813
Matlock House, London
Anne awoke with a headache, having over-imbibed the night before at her cousin Roberta’s engagement ball. The wedding would not take place for another two months, but Anne had seized on the opportunity to spend time in London, and her mother had been no less eager to press her cause with Rupert. He, in turn, had made sure to include Sir Sidney Parker in all his social invitations since Anne had arrived, and she was pleased with how that scheme was progressing.
Despite the pounding at her temples, Anne smiled at so many pleasant recollections of the evening before. She had made more new acquaintances than she could count and had liked all of Sir Sidney’s friends. She had danced every dance, and for several sets had lacked a gentleman to stand up with, allowing her to partner Penelope, whom her cousin had graciously included in the festivities. And best of all, the evening marked half a year remaining until she reached her majority. She was almost free.
There was a tapping at the door; it was Penelope’s daily ritual to awaken early, slip out of Anne’s bed and sneak back to her own less opulent chambers, and dress for the day before returning under the guise of her duties as Anne’s paid companion. Today, however, Penelope wore a stricken look on her face as she entered the room.
Anne rushed to her lover and took the breakfast tray Penelope was carrying. “Darling, what is the matter?”
“I – I cannot believe it. I heard something in the servants’ hall. Oh, it is horrible and wonderful, and I am a monster for thinking only of us.” Penelope looked at Anne with wild eyes, gesturing for her to sit, but Anne was rooted in place.
She clenched the gilded silver handles of the tray until her knuckles were white, bracing herself to hear that her mother was no more. And then she set it aside, prepared to give her beloved a celebratory embrace. “Tell me, darling. I am ready to hear it.”
“Pemberley has burned. There was a terrible fire, and it is lost. They say it will take years to rebuild.”
Anne’s heart sank. “That is awful. Of all the ways I might escape my fate – but surely my cousins are unharmed.”
Penelope nodded. “They are well enough, though surely they must be much aggrieved. It is – was – a fine house indeed. The earl’s valet told us they received an express at dawn; your cousin will break the news to you, so you have some time to prepare yourself for an appropriate reaction that will not anger your mother.”
“What, Darcy is here? In London?”
“No, I referred to the earl,” Penelope said, rubbing Anne’s shoulder in a slow, soothing circle. “Apparently your Darcy cousins sought shelter at an empty tenant cottage on their lands and will remain there for the spring planting.”
Anne’s mind was awhirl; she began to pace. “Oh, what does this all mean? What will Mother say about it all? I must think. My instinct is that it may be a benefit to us, though at such a horrible cost. But what if it goes the other way, what if we must be wed in haste? Perhaps I should simply marry Darcy and be done with it. He has his house in Mayfair, it would still be an escape from Rosings, and he would prevent her from doing any greater damage.”
Anne had no great love for Rosings Park, but she understood the importance of managing the estate well in order to maintain her comfort and independence. When none of her other punishments achieved the desired effect, Lady Catherine had learned to direct her wrath to the estate, making decisions that would harm Anne in the years to come. Powerless to change the terms of Sir Lewis’s will, the bitter widow made no secret of the fact that she would sooner ruin the estate than give it over to Anne and consign herself to the obscurity of a dependent relation in the dower house.
Penelope looked at Anne with tears glistening in her eyes. “You have but six months left, Anne. Giving in now may bring about a hastier end to your mother’s power over you, but at the cost of… of the rest of your life. It is your choice to make, but… oh, please, think it over.”
Anne began to pace. “I have had few enough choices, and they have never been easy. There is so much to consider. I fear Darcy may tire of living in a tiny cottage, and Mother will lure him to Rosings, which would belong to him if we wed.”
“And then we would surely be discovered,” Penelope said softly.
Anne nodded her rueful agreement. “I am surprised that she has never sent you away, in her efforts to control me. Losing you would be….”
“I would find you,” Penelope said quickly. “As soon as her hold over you was broken, I would find you, and even Darcy could not stop me. But… your cousin Darcy’s allure has always been the great distance between Pemberley and Rosings. Surely your mother would not contrive a scheme that would oblige her to relinquish control of Rosings immediately, when she has allowed your delay for nearly a year and a half.”
Anne held her lover’s pensive gaze as the two attempted to consider the situation from every imaginable angle. “I lost all faith in my own judgement long ago,” Anne sighed. “My best guess – which may perhaps be too optimistic – is that she may begin to think Darcy entirely unworthy of me now. I know it is awful to say, but if it means we have some chance….”
Now Anne began to reciprocate the soothing strokes and comforting murmurs Penelope had offered her. The two women clung to one another as Anne mused aloud. “I am sure he is fastidious enough to have adequate insurance, but even so. Poor Darcy! It does seem wrong to gain from his loss. I had always thought that when I ended our engagement, the ton would celebrate his return to eligible bachelorhood, and he would have his choice of bride. I doubt that will be the case, now.”
“The land did not burn, and that is his income,” Penelope reminded her.
“True,” Anne said, still warring with her conscience. “He has piles of money, and all the privileges of being a gentleman.”
She could see the same struggle in Penelope’s visage as well. “Perhaps by Christmas, his cottage will have been converted to a very elegant dower house, a fine inducement for the matchmaking mothers of London.”
“Those that actually wish to live near their daughters,” Anne grumbled. “I have felt rather guilty since last Christmas. He was trying so hard, the poor man. I did everything I could think of to put him off, even spoken boldly to demonstrate how ill-suited we are.”
Penelope looked chagrined. “I fear our poetic Miss Lucas has been too good at her job; her letters and his have grown most ardent. Perhaps her relocation from Hertfordshire to the Sussex coast has inspired her fancy. Would it be too cruel to terminate the correspondence at such a time?”
“I think we must! Please, write to her today, and end it gently.” Anne flexed the fingers in her left hand, frowning at the disfiguration that had not healed in a decade. She let out a thoughtful sigh. “Sir Sidney means to return soon to Sanditon. I still think I should be better suited to him than to Darcy, should I be bullied into marriage before my birthday. I imagine she will resort to drastic measures, likely further sabotaging of the estate. If we were to go to Sanditon, she would be removed from Rosings, and I could continue to enjoy Sir Sidney’s lively antics.”
“Even with your cousin’s estate in ruins, would your mother not prefer him over Sir Sidney? He is very insolent to her.”
“But she would prefer Rupert more than anybody. I must ask him again to help me delay her. He need not actually travel there – surely he must go to Derbyshire and aid Darcy – but if he were to tell Mother he is travelling to Sanditon, and perhaps repeat some of Sir Sidney’s assurances that the places attracts the first circles….”
“That may be enough to keep her there, even if the earl does not go himself,” Penelope mused with a wry smile. “If Sir Sidney’s claims are true, there will be other eligible gentlemen with pedigrees to please even your mother.”
“And I have always wanted to make love to you in the ocean,” Anne teased, feeling bolstered enough to face the day at last. She stole a quick kiss and then she rose and prepared to face her mother as Rupert informed her of the fire.
***
19 June, 1813
The Tremont Hotel, Sanditon, Sussex
Anne lingered in the doorway to her mother’s bedchamber, which was situated across a small parlor from her own room in their suite. She had been feeling more than usually malicious toward her mother that morning; she and Penelope had made the most of a brief interlude of privacy. “I suppose we have not much longer,” she sighed, watching with adoration as Penelope slid off the bed and pinned her hair back in place.
“She must be gone long enough to convince you that one of the village gossips has informed her of Sir Sidney’s elopement.”
Anne laughed. “As if she would ever permit any of them to address her!”
“Shall you indulge her with a show of surprise and dejection, or will you tell her the truth?” Penelope stepped into her slippers and stalked out of the bedroom. Anne closed the door, pursuing her lover to the parlor.
“I suppose I ought to placate her with a performance of what she expects, and give her a sense of triumph until the Darcy situation is sorted. I still have nearly three months until I gain my independence, and I shudder to think what she might try.”
Anne cozied up beside Penelope on the sofa. “It was very sportive of Miss Denham to come to me last night. I doubt I could have persuaded her against accepting the money, even if I had wished to. Well, I hope it buys her a modicum of joy with that idiot.”
“Nobody could be in any doubt that you and he were finished, after the picnic,” Penelope said. “You each did one another a great service, and at your mother’s expense!”
Anne sighed at the recollection of that event, and what had transpired before it. The wretched brute had not denied her claim that he would likely take mistresses, but had been outraged at discovering Anne and Penelope sharing a tender embrace just before the picnic. What a coup it had been, walking out onto the terrace outside the ballroom last night and discovering him in just such a pose with Miss Denham, and the two ladies had agreed. Anne had chosen well in asking Sir Thomas Parker to accompany her outdoors when she became suddenly and conveniently unwell, for Sir Anthony Denham was an oily, grasping cad, who might have taken advantage of his cousin rather than press Sir Sidney to marry Miss Denham after compromising her. But the elder brother had been all prudence and lectures, and Sir Sidney was compelled to act with honor.
“Rather at my expense,” Anne drawled. “But if I celebrate my birthday unwed, I shall say it was money well spent.” She leaned over and kissed the tip of Penelope’s nose, laughing playfully. “We are turned matchmakers, just like that vulgar old widow!”
Penelope had just reached up to stroke Anne’s hair and kiss her lips when the door to the suite flew open. Before the two women could separate, Fitzwilliam Darcy thundered into the room and gaped at them like a madman. “Anne,” he bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
Anne laced her fingers through Penelope’s as she glared up at him. “It is something I would have told you of years ago, if I had not been certain you would behave so beastly! Penelope and I….”
And then Anne saw the letter in his hand; it bore Penelope’s flawless script. It was the letter she had dispatched to Miss Lucas yesterday, and she felt her heart sink to know that it had not reached the lady. She stood and took it from Darcy, smoothing the crumpled paper. “Where did you get this?”
“From Lady Parker, formerly Miss Charlotte Lucas,” Darcy spat. “She answered your disgraceful advertisement on behalf of her dearest friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Anne staggered backward, nearly tumbling into Penelope’s lap as she burst out laughing. “You are joking! Miss Bennet? Oh, it is too much!”
Darcy grimaced at her. “I daresay you have found this excessively diverting from the very start!”
“Now you are joking,” Anne said bitterly. “From the very start, I have found the betrothal forced upon me entirely unappealing, as you might have been told had you consulted me instead of making bargains behind my back, with my horrid mother!”
“I had no choice!”
Anne sprang back to her feet as she shouted at him. “I have never had a choice about anything, ever, in the whole course of my life! The only thing I have ever had of my own is my love for Penelope, which must be kept a secret from the world. You are Darcy of Pemberley, and may traverse the world as you damn well please! Why, Darcy, when you might have had anyone – why did it have to be me?”
Darcy was red faced with rage at her raillery, but as her voice began to crack with emotion, his countenance softened from fury to confusion. “Good God, do you not know?”
Anne shook her head, her body tensing as she sensed some terrible revelation. “What?”
Darcy chewed his lip for a moment, his eyes darting about as he considered what to say to her. “Your mother discovered a secret, when we were all in London after the earl died. She blackmailed me, Anne. I had no choice but to betroth myself to you, to protect….”
“To protect your sister?” Anne let out a low gasp. “And that is why Georgiana despises me. Oh, do not look at me like that, Darcy. You have just discovered my own greatest secret – and I must thank you for not making a great thing of it – I would not add disgust to your present ire.”
Darcy’s wild look had cooled, and he glanced with pensive bewilderment between Anne and Penelope, who had crossed the room to lock the door and lean against it, a reminder that Lady Catherine might return at any time.
“I am sure I would wish you joy if your mother was not holding an axe over my neck,” he snarled. “At any rate, I have other reasons to think the worst of you, after such deception. I have been entirely deceived in your character, in your feelings toward me, and have been manipulated into falling in love with a woman who does not exist!”
“You have fallen in love with Elizabeth Bennet, apparently. I should wish you joy,” Anne quipped with a grin.
“You mock me, just as you belittled me in refusing to even attempt to write to me yourself. I know we have never been close; resigned as I was to our union, I hoped that the correspondence might give us a chance of knowing one another better. But you dismissed me from the very beginning, you thought nothing of my willingness to foster some affection between us.”
“I would never have grown to love you, Darcy,” Anne cried, making an impatient gesture at the woman she adored. “What was I to do, put that in writing?”
Anne could see that this logical argument had only incensed him; she tried another approach, taking a few furious steps toward him as she extended her disfigured left hand for him to see. “I cannot write, Darcy. My father allowed me to favor my left, while he was alive. My mother thought it a sign of my wickedness, and a month after Papa died, my fingers were poorly set by the village quack she summoned after slamming my hand in a door jam. My penmanship looks like that of a child, and I am ashamed of it.” Hot tears streamed down her face; it was yet another way her mother infantilized her.
Darcy’s anger seemed to wilt as his posture relaxed. “Good God, I had no idea she was as cruel as that.”
“There is a great deal you do not know,” Anne sighed. He seemed nearly ready to be reasonable, and she had a sudden desire to unburden herself, to tell him everything. A glance at Penelope was enough.
Penelope moved away from the door and scooped up the little dog Sir Sidney had gifted Anne. “I shall take little Contessa for a walk; perhaps I may detain your mother if I see her returning.”
Anne smiled gratefully at Penelope and gestured for Darcy to sit with her. Over the next quarter hour, she told him as much as she could without being cruel, and by the end of it she had reason to hope that he was more sympathetically inclined. “If you did not know about the blackmail, I can understand how you might resent being left out of the negotiations for our betrothal,” he admitted.
“I am not surprised at it, but very sorry for it. If she will not release you even now, what are we to do? Shall we carry on pretending, until I am at liberty to break it off?”
“I doubt your mother will allow any further delay, with Sir Sidney gone. Forgive me, I trust you have heard of it?”
She chortled. “Mother does not know that I am aware of her involvement in bringing the elopement about; I gave Miss Denham my blessing when she asked it of me. She is a strange creature, but still deserves better than Sir Sidney.”
Darcy frowned. “You encouraged it? You twist me up with pity for you, but your machinations do real harm, Anne.”
She let out a huff of exasperation. “Have I not sufficiently redeemed myself with my good intentions?” She gestured with the letter she still held in her hand and then let out a squeak of surprise when she saw that the seal had not been broken. “You idiot, Darcy! You did not read it?”
“I know what it says. Lady Parker suspected you of being involved with Miss Penny and bid you write to me in order to expose you.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Clever. She would have made a fearsome sister-in-law. Oh! But you suppose I wrote to Miss Lucas for another love letter to woo you back after quarreling with Sir Sidney? Ha! Because your false courtship of Miss Bennet was sure to inspire my envy!”
He blanched. “You knew?”
“You have been uncharacteristically indiscreet. All of Sanditon is aware of it and is convinced that you and she are destined to realize your feelings have been genuine all along. For my part, I had some little fear that she might have had mercenary intentions toward you, for I do not know why she would agree to such a scheme – knowing that she also agreed to write my letters makes me wonder if she is simply a hopeless romantic.”
“She is not mercenary – is this why you treat her with such disdain?”
Anne rolled her eyes. “I envy that Georgiana came to like her so quickly, when your sister has never given me half a chance. And I cannot help a little snobbery; it is a miracle my mother’s company has not made me much worse – Penelope’s influence, I think. Oh, read the note – I meant to do you a good turn.”
Darcy hesitantly took the missive from her, broke the seal, and began to read it. His mouth hung agape. “You knew she had loved me and wished to make amends by uniting us – before a certain fortune hunter sank her claws into me.” He frowned at these words and shook his head in disbelief.
“That is why it is enormously amusing, preposterous, and absolutely riotous to me that the lady you have loved in your letters is the very same woman you have been wooing this last fortnight, rather than a rival.” Anne grinned at him, perhaps the first truly joyful expression she had ever bestowed on Darcy. This turn of events was a bright light of jubilation after an arduous few weeks.
“I am happy it shall turn out well for you, truly. You are in love with Miss Bennet, are you not? You have never looked at me the way you do her – not that I ever… well, anyhow. But I am curious, Darcy. If the writer of those letters had been any other lady, who would you have chosen? The writer who pined from afar, or the impertinent princess of the hotel? I had hoped to right the wrong I had done Miss Lucas , but I did fear you would choose Miss Bennet. This, at least, would prove that you could not have been so lovelorn over me because of the letters, if an acquaintance of a fortnight could supplant me. My conscience is now clear.”
Darcy’s countenance darkened. “It does not matter. There is still the threat of your aunt exposing a secret that would destroy me, and my sister.” He studied her for a moment, and she could see in his eyes the moment he concluded that her contrition was genuine and decided to trust her. “Richard has invited Lady Margaret to Sanditon.”
Anne laughed. “And you will finally permit her to murder my mother? A solution befitting the problem.”
“Perhaps you and Georgiana may yet be friends; you are both shockingly bloodthirsty,” Darcy drawled.
Anne smirked at him. “My goodness, Miss Bennet is giving you a sense of humor. My heartiest congratulations, Darcy.”
He stood and paced toward the window, likely prepared to brood out of it. Before he could lament, Anne rose and clapped her hands with excitement. “Oh, I like this! And only seventy-eight days until I am free – perhaps then we can all be friends, and banter in such a way. It is strange, but pleasant. I might always remain a little spiky, but I would like to help you find a way to be with Miss Bennet. Knowing she is Miss Lucas has entirely revised my opinion of your lady. Penelope read me passages from her letters from time to time – she has hidden depths.”
“They are not hidden from me,” Darcy muttered. He turned from the window with a tortured look on his face. “I love her, Anne. She was much dismayed at the discovery, as I was – I confess I came here to vent my displeasure, so that I may be gentler in discussing the matter with her.”
“Happy to oblige,” she quipped.
Darcy ignored her. “But I can give her no further reassurance than that I hope the dowager countess has some information about Lady Catherine that may neutralize the blackmail.”
“Richard’s idea, no doubt, as with the false courtship.” Anne gave her cousin another merry smile. What a fine day it was shaping up to be!
Darcy nodded. “Until our aunt arrives in Sanditon, I must appear to be compliant with your mother’s wishes.”
Anne laughed. “Oh, we should have had this chat ages ago! But then, you would not have fallen in love with the same woman twice, and I love that fate for you. But must we wait on Lady Margaret? Could we not threaten to tell Lady Denham that my mother bribed Miss Denham? Or I could tell her the truth about Penelope and I, though the thought of it frightens me out of my wits – but I would do it, if my cousins all supported me. I could threaten to make a public scene with my lover if she breathes a word of that secret which would destroy you.”
Darcy gave her a wary smile, and then they both jumped at the sound of Penelope’s exaggerated laughter in the corridor. “I do nothing rashly,” he said, gesturing to the door that led out onto the public terrace overlooking the sea. “And I suppose I owe Richard some share in bringing her down.”
They stepped outside, their conversation now well within the bounds of propriety amongst the other hotel guests taking their tea, just as the key clicked in the lock.