Chapter Nineteen #3
“I announced I intended to marry my cousin,” Anne replied evenly, and a wave of pride flowed through Richard for his wife’s quiet courage. “You inferred it was Darcy because that was the match you desired.”
“You longed for that match yourself,” Lady Catherine snapped, nostrils flaring.
“Clearly, I did not, as I married Richard.”
“Obstinate, headstrong child!” With a sudden cry, Lady Catherine rose, her face contorted. “I shall have this farce of a marriage annulled immediately! You will marry Darcy and be done with it!”
“You shall do no such thing,” Anne replied, her voice steady as a millpond despite her mother’s histrionics.
“Richard and I are both of age, we exchanged our vows in earnest, and...” She paused, meeting her mother’s gaze directly.
“Perhaps you would be better seated, Mother, before I continue... I am increasing.”
Lady Catherine’s complexion blanched to alabaster before she crumpled unceremoniously to the carpet.
“Good heavens!” Richard exclaimed, rushing to attend his aunt. He dropped to one knee, hovering anxiously as he studied her slack features. Anne observed from her perch on the settee, unruffled.
“Does she draw breath?” Years of witnessing similar dramatic performances had rendered Anne quite immune. She gestured to the vacant cushion beside her. “Join me, dearest. She will recover her senses presently.”
“Anne!” Richard’s voice carried equal measures of shock and concern. “Your mother lies insensible! Have you no feelings on the matter?”
“None whatsoever. She will come around as soon as you leave her side.” Anne leaned sideways, peering past her husband’s shoulders. “Mother, your tea grows tepid. You know how much you detest lukewarm brews.”
“Wretched, thankless girl,” Lady Catherine muttered, struggling to right herself. Her imperious glare fixed on Richard. “Are you simply going to gawk, you simpleton? Assist me at once!”
Richard rose without hesitation, slipping one arm beneath his aunt’s elbow, and helped her back to the chair from which she had shot like a cannon upon hearing that her greatest desire of uniting the two great estates of Rosings and Pemberley had been foiled.
He dared to look at his demure wife, noting that when she lowered her cup, a small, contented smile unfolded.
He stifled a soft chuckle, knowing that he alone was witness to her quiet triumph.
“Your father will be sorely disappointed in you, Fitzwilliam,” Lady Catherine huffed out as she rearranged her skirts. “Defying our wishes of Darcy and Anne to marry.”
“My father never supported your mad desire to have Darcy marry your daughter.”
“He most assuredly did!”
“When he and mother learned of our marriage, they congratulated us and said they could breathe a sigh of relief because your eternal haranguing of Darcy would finally come to an end.”
“Your parents knew you had married while I was left in the dark?”
“When you wrote Georgiana and Lady Matlock, crowing about my marriage to Darcy, they immediately cornered him and demanded information,” Anne told her mother. “Darcy explained what we had done, asking for their forgiveness.”
“And rightly so.”
“He asked forgiveness for not allowing them the opportunity to attend our wedding, Mother, not the act itself.”
“The engagement between the two of you was of a peculiar kind. From your infancy, you were intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of myself and my sister. While in your cradles, we planned the union: and now, you have ruined everything by marrying a man who cannot rub two farthings together.” Richard snorted at his aunt’s faulty memory. “You have something to add, nephew?”
“I do. Neither my Uncle George or Aunt Anne agreed to a cradle betrothal, and were adamantly against it. As such, no betrothal contracts were ever drafted and signed, and no marriage settlements agreed upon. This was a dream only you held onto, Lady Catherine – or shall I call you Mother?” His aunt’s face blanched again. “Lady Catherine it is, then.”
He turned to Ann.
“Shall we go up? Our room should be ready.”
“Room! You dare share a room?” Lady Catherine quivered with fresh rage. “Are you peasants, low born farmers that you dare to share a room under my roof?”
Anne stood and clasped her hands in front of her body.
“My husband and I share a room because we love each other and are still newly wed.” She raised one finger to silence her mother, who had taken a deep breath before partially opening her mouth.
“You shall remain silent, Mother. How quickly you have forgotten that Rosings is my house, and my rules take precedence. You may wish to retire to your chambers and ruminate on how you wish to proceed in the future.”
“Well… I never…” she spluttered.
“That much is painfully obvious,” Anne said in agreement. “Come, Richard. I wish to rest quietly before dinner is served.”
With no hesitation, Richard extended a welcome arm for his wife to take and they quit the room, sharing a quiet laugh as a litany of unexpected expletives were heard bouncing off the walls of the drawing room.