The Three Colonels (12 page)

His mistress acknowledged the praise with the barest of nods. “I am glad you think so; however, I recall that your potato larder was somewhat lacking this winter. Obviously, your man did not carry out your instructions to the letter. This will not do, sir! This year you must see to the work yourself.”

Mr. Collins paled at the thought, while Mrs. Collins cringed—it was evident that she knew her husband would follow Lady Catherine's advice to the letter, no matter how inconvenient or outlandish.

It was at this time Colonel Fitzwilliam decided to change the subject. “Aunt Catherine, I have been here several days and not once have you regaled us with tales of your delightful Cleopatra.” Cleopatra was the latest in the line of a series of long-haired cats Lady Catherine kept as a personal pet in her private rooms. “Come, I am sure we would all like to hear about the latest mischief of that rascal.”

The silence that greeted this request was deafening. The Collinses turned red, Mrs. Jenkinson kept her eyes firmly on her plate, and Anne nearly gasped. Lady Catherine, who was eating at the time, sat shock still, her fork poised in midair. Slowly the old woman lowered her fork onto her plate; only after that was accomplished did she slowly turn her eyes to her questioner. A chill went down Richard's back as he beheld the raw pain in his aunt's face.

“Cleopatra is dead,” she said, her words falling heavily on the table.

“My dear aunt! I am so sorry—I had no idea! Please accept my condolences. It is an awful thing, to be sure, to lose one's pet. I take it the tragedy was a recent event?”

Anne reached over to touch Richard's hand as a warning. “No, Richard, it happened over two years ago. It is still very painful—”

“Murdered!” cried Lady Catherine. “She was murdered!”

“Mother—” began Anne.

“What did you say, Aunt?” asked Richard. “Did you say murdered?”

“Murder most foul it was, Richard.” Lady Catherine became more agitated. “I went to my rooms one evening and my dear, sweet Cleopatra was missing. She never left the room! I knew something was amiss. I roused the house, looked everywhere, including outside, and then—”

Richard, ignoring Anne's tightening grip on his hand, asked, “And?”

Lady Catherine lowered her head and spoke in a dreadful voice. “She was found by a stable hand near the barn, limp and lifeless.”

Now Richard was thoroughly confused. “Were there any marks on the carcass… er… body?”

Dramatically his aunt answered, “No—
none
.”

“Then how is it you say that someone killed your cat?” Richard cried.

“Someone deliberately removed Cleopatra from my rooms and set her outside where some beast could attack her.” Lady Catherine ranted. “Such a sweet and defenseless creature! She was frightened to death, I am sure!”

Richard was not so sure; animals had been known to seek solitude when they felt their time was near. “A tragedy, aye, there is no doubt. I am so very sorry for your loss, my dear aunt.” He reached over with his free hand—Anne still held the other—and patted the old woman's hand. “Have you given any thought to getting another?”

There was a crash. “Oh, clumsy me,” cried Mrs. Jenkinson. “I dropped my glass. Here,” she said to the maid, “help me clean this up.”

“It was water, was it not, Mrs. Jenkinson? Pray say you did not spill wine!”

“Never fear, Lady Catherine, it was only my water goblet,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “I am so sorry, madam.”

“Get up all of the water, girl,” Lady Catherine ordered the maid, “or the table will mark. Ah, Richard, where were we? Another cat—no, I am afraid nothing can replace my dear Cleopatra.”

Richard looked upon his aunt kindly. “She was sweet and affectionate, I dare say.”

“Cleo?” snorted Lady Catherine. “I should say not! She was stately and regal—”

Standoffish
and
cold
, thought Anne.

“—very particular of whom she would tolerate—”

A
hateful
little
beast.

“—an excellent judge of character—”

Only
her
mistress
could
approach
her.

“—and the owner of the loveliest long white coat.”

Cat
hair
all
over
creation.

“No, Richard, there will never be another such as my Cleopatra,” the mistress of Rosings finished with a sigh.

“I quite agree,” Mr. Collins injected. “Losing a pet can be the most trying of events. Why, we have sometimes thought of acquiring a small dog for the parsonage to entertain the children. But when we recall the pain our most esteemed patroness weathered with such courage when tragedy struck, I am afraid that our humble hearts are not up to the challenge.”

The
grand
dame
turned on the hapless clergyman. “Are you comparing my Cleopatra to a mere
dog
? Of what can you be thinking?” Before Mr. Collins could apologize, Aunt Catherine turned to her nephew and asked, “What is the reason for your inquiry, Richard? I did not know you were so fond of my cat.”

“To own the truth, Aunt, I had never laid eyes on her. A small animal, I take it.”

“Cleopatra was neither large nor small,” Lady Catherine replied.

“Medium-sized, then—a perfect dimension for a cat.”

Lady Catherine looked slightly affronted. “
I
should not describe Cleopatra as anything as ordinary as ‘medium.' She was the proper size of a truly superior creature.”

At Richard's puzzled expression, Mrs. Collins held up her hands indicating the size of the beast.

An officer in his majesty's army should be quick of mind, and generally, it could be said that virtue was owned by Colonel Fitzwilliam, but that day his wits failed him. “Why, that looks to be about the size of the cat we saw today in Hunsford—would not you say so, Anne?”

In that lady's panicked expression, Richard saw his error. His only hope was that Aunt Catherine did not closely follow his meaning.

A false hope.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, Aunt Catherine?” returned Richard, hoping to minimize the damage.

“Am I to understand that you saw a cat in Hunsford today?” she inquired.

“Yes, Aunt Catherine.”

“Anne saw the same cat?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“In Hunsford?”

“Yes.”

“Where, may I ask, did you both see a cat in Hunsford?”

Before Richard could say anything else, Anne told her mother, “At the home of Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, one of Rosings' tenants.”

“You saw it from your carriage.”

“No, Mother—in Mrs. Clarke's sitting room. We delivered a basket.”

Lady Catherine drew in her breath. “Anne, do you mean to say you,
a
de
Bourgh
, entered a farmer's house? One of those dirty hovels?”

Richard cut in. “Aunt Catherine, please—”

“Silence!” the woman roared. “Well, miss, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Anne leapt to her feet. “I have nothing to say, Mother, except I was doing God's work. And I would do it again!”

“God's work?” Lady Catherine sneered as she rose from her chair. “Charity promotes idleness! My daughter, risking her health, paying visits to such that should be on their knees in thanksgiving that they are allowed to reside here—it is beyond everything!” She then turned on Mrs. Jenkinson. “How could you allow this? Is this how you protect your charge?”

“Mrs. Jenkinson was not there, Mother!” cried Anne. “If there must be blame, then direct it to none but me!”

“Do not speak to me in such a manner! It is not to be borne!” At that, Anne turned and fled the room. “Anne! Come back here this instant! Ungrateful child, I am not finished with you—” She began to follow Anne when her nephew stood to bar her way.

“You
are
finished with her, Aunt,” Richard said sternly but quietly.

“How dare you! Get out of my way—”

“No. Sit down, Aunt Catherine.” At her glare, he leaned down close to her eyes. “Please—sit—down.”

After a moment, Lady Catherine returned to her seat.

“I think quite enough has been said for one day,” Richard continued. “I will attend to Anne. Do I bring with me your apologies?”

“Apologies?” she sputtered. “It is
she
who owes me her apologies for forgetting the honor due her mother! You will tell her that for me, sir!”

“She does indeed owe you deference, madam, as you are her mother, but I shall not berate her or carry any demand from you for repentance on her part. Indeed, you should be proud of her. Yes, proud!” Richard said, his voice rising as Lady Catherine made to interrupt. “She was only doing right by your tenants. She was doing
your
duty.”

“Duty?” Lady Catherine cried. “What do you know of duty?”

“You forget yourself, madam!” the colonel of cavalry roared. “Remember to whom you are speaking! Do not dare speak to
me
of
duty
!” Richard allowed his glare to fall upon his wide-eyed aunt for a few moments more before leaving the room in pursuit of Anne.

Mr. Collins was shocked at the exchange he had just witnessed. “Oh, my dear Lady Catherine! What is wrong with the young people these days, to speak in such a manner—?”

“Oh, be silent,” said Lady Catherine.

***

Richard ran out of the house pulling on his coat, having been told by a servant that Miss de Bourgh had gone into the garden. Through the lightly falling snow, he saw a figure in a hooded cloak walking slowly towards the woods. Without wasting a moment, Richard set off at a run in pursuit of the walker.

“Anne!” he called out. “Anne!”

The figure halted but did not turn. Richard caught up and turned the person around. It was indeed Anne de Bourgh, the hood pulled down over her weeping face. Richard's heart wrenched at the site of her tears running down her lovely cheeks.

“Anne… Anne, please do not cry—I cannot bear it! This is no place for you. Come, I insist that you come inside where you may warm yourself. You will not have to face your mother; you will be left in peace. I swear it.”

Anne looked up at her cousin. Richard was mesmerized by the lady's lips, so soft and inviting. He could think of nothing else but to kiss those lips, that nose, those tears. The realization then hit him like a thunderbolt.

He
was
in
love
with
Anne
de
Bourgh.

For a full minute the two stood in the lightly blowing afternoon snow, the gentleman holding the lady by the shoulders, each looking the other full in the face, not knowing how the other felt, neither saying what was in their heart.

A sudden gust of wind hit the pair, bringing them to their senses and breaking the tableaux.

“I believe you are right—we should go indoors,” said the lady.

The gentleman nodded and held out his arm. Silently the pair returned to the house.

Richard sat in his room that night, nursing a brandy and cursing himself. After he saw Anne into the house, Mrs. Jenkinson spirited his cousin to her rooms to get warm before Richard could say anything. But what could he say? How could he declare himself after insulting the lady's mother?

Instead, he retired to his room and immediately penned an offer to quit Rosings immediately and give up his office as advisor on estate matters. There was no hint of any remorse in his note for his words to his aunt; Richard felt none, and he would stand by those words for the rest of his life. He now sat and morosely waited for his aunt's response; he did not doubt that the grand lady would accept his resignation.

Richard was a competitive man. All his life, he strove to win, and it pained him to his bones to lose. His drive had kept him alive on the battlefield, but now he knew he had failed. His ungovernable temper had let down his family and cost him the woman he had unwittingly wanted all his life.

He could see that now. All the years he had been coming to Rosings, it was always to see Anne—to show her some kindness and attention, to ease her life. When had affection grown into something more? Richard could not name the date or time; it had grown slowly. He knew his feelings had blossomed in concert with Anne's own blossoming in recent years. And now, when Richard finally knew what he desired, he had thrown it all away.

Richard chuckled to himself. He could envision the scene: him standing, hat in hand, before his imperious aunt. “
Lady
Catherine, I formally request your permission to court your daughter, Miss de Bourgh, for the purpose of matrimony
.” He wondered if she would laugh before she had him thrown out the door.

Richard knew Anne's mind; she would never go against her mother's wishes. Of course, he was assuming the lady felt the same about him. She did not want Darcy. Why would she want poor Richard Fitzwilliam, a second son with little income aside from his pay from the crown? Perhaps it was not so much the idea of a union with Darcy that displeased Anne as it was the whole concept of marriage to a cousin. Richard's thoughts grew ever bleaker as he sipped his drink before the fire.

Finally, the expected knock came. Slowly, Richard rose, crossed to the door, and opened it to behold the butler with a note on a silver tray. Richard took the note, thanked the butler, and closed the door. He walked over to the back of his chair, looking at the name on the cover:
Colonel
Richard
Fitzwilliam
. As there was no profit in postponing the inevitable, he broke the seal and began to read.

Colonel Fitzwilliam,

I have received your note offering to resign your office here at Rosings. While your apology was not clearly laid out, I must assume that you meant to do so by your offer of resignation. I am pleased that you admit your fault, though it was done in such an obscure manner.

Your offer of resignation is not accepted. I expect, as a member of the Fitzwilliam family, you shall see to your duties as usual in the morning.

Yours, etc…

Richard stared at the note for some time, not quite believing the words therein. Had it not been for the haughty manner of the writing, he certainly would have suspected a forgery. Finally, he fell into the chair he had vacated, the note hanging from his fingertips.

For some reason Richard could not fathom, Aunt Catherine had chosen to view his letter as an apology so that Richard could remain to complete his task as Rosings. The colonel did not hold the belief that affection for his person had stayed the lady's hand.

No, he knew that something else was at work here. It would be a while before he could find sleep.

***

Anne came downstairs the next morning, not knowing whom she dreaded seeing more, her mother or her cousin. Seeing neither in the breakfast room, Anne sought out the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Parks, has either my mother or Colonel Fitzwilliam been down to breakfast?”

“No, miss,” replied Mrs. Parks. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has had nothing but a cup of tea; he has been in the library with the steward this last hour. Your mother is having her breakfast upstairs. Shall I fix a plate for you, miss?”

“Just a little something—perhaps toast with jam,” said a surprised yet relieved Anne. “I am to meet Mrs. Collins for a stroll very soon.” As Anne ate her light breakfast, she could not prevent her eyes from straying to the door of the library down the hall. Knowing Richard was there unsettled her. She left her breakfast half eaten and prepared to go on her walk.

Anne was soon among the trees in the grove. The air, while still chilly, had moderated from yesterday's cold, and the snow was already half melted.
Spring
is
in
the
air
, Anne thought when she heard Charlotte calling her name. The two friends soon met and continued to walk amongst the trees.

“How are you today, Anne?” began Charlotte.

“Much better, I thank you. I have not sneezed once.”

Charlotte eyed her companion. “Anne, as happy as I am to hear you in good health, I believe you know I was not inquiring about your sneezing.” At Anne's continued hesitation, Charlotte declared, “Forgive me, Anne. It was not my intention to pry.”

Anne stopped and turned to the other woman. “Oh, I do not believe that was your intention. You are concerned for me, I know. It… it is just that—oh, you will think me foolish!”

“My dear, please share your burden with me.”

“Mother upset me greatly yesterday.”

“Yes, we were all witness to her abominable behavior towards you.” Charlotte lowered her voice. “May I tell you a secret? Even Mr. Collins was upset with Lady Catherine.”

“You are joking!” Anne gasped. “Mr. Collins?”

“You could not be more astonished than I. He was troubled that his esteemed patroness would show the bad manners to publicly berate ‘the district's finest flower' for doing her Christian duty.” Charlotte added with a smile, “Though he only admitted it to me after we were safely in our bedroom where the servants could not overhear.” Both women giggled. “But, Anne,” Charlotte continued after the laughter died down, “there is more to your melancholy than your mother. Might it have something to do with a certain officer?”

Anne whirled to her friend. “How? How did you know?”

“Oh, Anne, I have known it for some time.”

“Why have you not spoken of it before?” Anne then paled. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

“Mrs. Jenkinson might suspect,” Charlotte considered. “Elizabeth, as well—”

“Elizabeth!”

“Georgiana… Mr. Darcy, too—they can keep nothing from him.”

Anne put both hands to her face. “Oh, no!”

Charlotte took her friend's hands into her own. “Fear not, Anne. It is certain that your mother suspects nothing. No one who would inform Lady Catherine of your feelings toward Colonel Fitzwilliam has the slightest idea as to your inclinations. Your secret is safe.” Anne's face could not hide her relief. “Safe even from your love.”

Anne turned away. “Then everything is well—” she began to say when she heard a snort of frustration from her companion.

“Not again!” Charlotte cried to the heavens. “Three years ago only
I
saw what was happening between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. I said nothing, and look at the pain it caused!”

Anne was amazed at Charlotte's outburst. “What pain? Did something happen while they were here that spring?”

“Never mind; it is not my tale to tell. In any case, all ended well. But I shall not stand idly by again.” Charlotte took Anne by the shoulders. “My dear friend, believe me when I say that Colonel Fitzwilliam is in love with you!”

“No, it cannot be,” said Anne. “You are wrong—”

“Anne, I have watched the both of you. To my eyes, it is as obvious as the sun!” Charlotte tried another approach. “Anne, will you admit to feelings for the colonel?”

Anne blushed, her eyes firmly planted on the ground.

“Anne?”

“Yes,” said Anne in a small voice.

“You love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not want him to return your love, or do you believe that you are not worthy of him?” Charlotte frowned. “For it is my opinion that he is not worthy of you!”

“How can you say that?” cried Anne. “Richard is the best of men!”

“Bah! A few medals, surviving Bonaparte—what is that compared to what you have endured your entire life? If he is such a great man, why has it taken him so long to know his own mind?”

“I… I do not understand.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam has been in love with you for about as long as you have been in love with him. It is true! Only, you have admitted to the truth of your heart's desire and for a very long time, have you not? If Mr. Darcy had followed his aunt's demands and asked for your hand, you would have refused him, is that not so?”

Anne nodded.

Charlotte continued. “But the colonel has only this week realized his true feelings for you. I watched him at the Clarkes' and as he defended you against Lady Catherine. Believe me; he is violently in love with you.”

Anne's mind rebelled at the words of her friend. For so long when she was ill, she felt unable to love—unworthy of being loved. Now that she was improved, why did she continue to feel that way?

Charlotte's eyes bore into hers. “Do not let your mother poison you against happiness.”

Anne's head snapped up, and tears began to run down her face.

Charlotte, distressed, embraced the young woman. “Oh, Anne, forgive me!”

As Charlotte hugged Anne, a thought cut through the jumbled thoughts of the heiress:
Richard—yesterday—that look in his eyes. I thought he was going to kiss me.

Anne broke the embrace and looked at Charlotte with a dawning smile on her face. “He wanted to kiss me.”

“What?”

“He wanted to kiss me.”

Charlotte was puzzled. “Who wanted to kiss you?”

“Richard, silly! It was in his eyes. I saw it. He wanted to kiss me!”

Charlotte's eyes grew wide. “When?”

“In the snow!” Anne was downright giddy now.

“When were you in the snow?”

“Yesterday! After we fought with Mother. He came after me and wanted to kiss me in the snow!” Anne broke free and did a pirouette, laughing the whole time. “Hurrah!”

Charlotte watched in open-mouthed shock at her friend's exhibition. Anne then grasped Charlotte, giggling.

“Oh, Charlotte, you are right! He does love me!” Unable to resist, Charlotte began to giggle, too. “He… he wanted to kiss me! He must want to marry me! Marry
me
! Oh, Charlotte, I have never been so happy!” The women hugged again in laughter and tears.

Suddenly, Anne pulled away and looked Charlotte in the face. “What do I do now?”

Anne's confused expression quickly sobered Charlotte. With a slight smile, she looked at her companion and said, “You must let the colonel know that his attentions are welcomed.”

“But… how do I do that?”

Charlotte sighed. “You will find a way, my dear.”

***

Upon the steward leaving the library, Richard stood and stretched to relieve the stiffness in his back. As his back was to the door, he was surprised to hear a voice.

“May I come in?”

Richard assumed a more proper pose and turned towards his visitor. “Yes, Mrs. Parks, do come in. Please, have a seat.” Richard waited until the housekeeper was comfortable. “Now, madam, how may I be of service to you?”

“I understand you wish to speak to me,” she replied.

“Yes, I do. I would like to speak with you about the household. As you may know, I am empowered to look into all aspects of the management of Rosings Park. Your cooperation in this endeavor is vital.”

She handed him a packet of papers. “I have here the current household budget as well as the current accounts with the shopkeepers in Hunsford.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Parks.” Richard set the packet aside. “I shall review them in a moment. Now as for the staff here—”

“You will find a roster of all employees of the house in that packet along with their backgrounds and dates of hire.”

Richard walked behind the desk to take his seat. “I have already seen the reports of the tenants and the groundskeepers here at Rosings, but I cannot find
your
employment agreement or that of the steward.” He gestured at the stacks of papers.

Mrs. Parks unsuccessfully hid her slight smirk. “You will not find
them
in there, sir. The mistress had them burned, you see, but it does not signify. The solicitor has got the originals.”

Richard took a moment to digest this information. Why would Aunt Catherine do that? Did she mean to sack both of them; if so, why were they still here?

“Ahem… it must be a trial, I suppose, to work here. My aunt can be rather capricious, I must admit. Your loyalty serves you well.”

Mrs. Parks looked at him strangely. “As I said before—I very much enjoy my position here. Do you have any questions about that, sir?”

Richard became flustered. Dratted woman! He did not know what to make of her! “Well… I… umm… the uncertainty! I mean, there has been quite a turnover among the household staff here. I must admit I am surprised that you are still—well, to put it plainly, I am shocked that my aunt has not yet run you off!”

Mrs. Parks's expression became one of surprise. “Forgive me, sir; I had assumed you were better informed. I see now that you are operating under a mistaken understanding.” Her eyes shifted to the window. “Though how you could have been sent here without being fully prepared! What a muddle—”

“Mrs. Parks,” Richard cut in. “I insist you make plain your meaning.”