The Three Colonels (16 page)

“I need to work on my knowledge of languages, if I am ever to match yours.”

Buford closed his eyes, frowning. “How so?”

“Well, for example, I believe the correct phrase in French is
je
t'aime
, is it not?” She looked down into his eyes.

Wordlessly, Sir John searched her face. “Yes, that is correct, but I believe the formal version is
je
vous
aime
.”

Caroline repeated, “
Je
vous
aime
.
Oui
.”

Sir John swallowed. “I must say, however, that I prefer
je
t'adore
. 'Tis used between lovers.”

She smiled. “
Je
t'adore
—it is far more agreeable, I must admit.” She kissed him tenderly. Sir John reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss.

Caroline moved away slightly. “My Italian is not what it should be, I confess.
Ti
amo
I believe is right?”

“Oh no—
ti
voglio
is much better.”

Caroline's eyes widened. “Indeed? Very well then—
ti
voglio
.” This time the kiss was passionate and long. “And, of course, Spanish is
te
amo
.”

Sir John liked this game. “
Te
amo, te adoro, te deseo
.”

“But I have no German. You must help me. Did your…
friend
teach you the phrase?” she said with a grin.

“Wench! It was that baggage that was taught a lesson.”

Her laughter rained down on him like a summer shower. “This will never do! Teach me, Husband!”

“Let me see.
Ich
liebe
dich
is perfectly acceptable.”

“
Ich
liebe
dich
. Do you know Russian?”

“
Ya
tyebya
lyublyu
, I believe.”

Caroline started to giggle. “Surely your talents know no bounds! Do you know any others?”

“
Eu
adoro-te
is Portuguese. The Dutch say
ik
hou
van
je
. For the Irish it is
ta
gra
agam
ort
or
taim
i' ngra leat
. Do not ask me to say it in Polish—there is no telling how badly I would butcher it. I would probably say, ‘I like your stomach.'” Caroline was laughing now. “But the way I like best is the Welsh way.”

“And what do the Welsh say, Johnny?”

“They say
rwy'n dy gari di
.”

Caroline's eyes sparkled. “Yes—
rwy'n dy gari di
.”

Sir John smiled back. “
Rwy'n dy gari di.
”

The sounds of the lovers would continue throughout most of the evening.

***

It was the middle of the night when Caroline awoke. The knock on her door and her husband arising to answer it had broken her slumber. She opened one eye slightly to see Sir John in a robe reading a letter by the fireplace. The stiffness in his posture caught her attention. Completely awake, she sat up in bed, the sheet falling away from her naked torso.

“John, what is it?”

He turned to her, backlit by the fire, his expression unreadable.

“Bonaparte has escaped from Elba.”

***

Grenoble

The men of the 5th Regiment stood nervously across the road to Grenoble. Before them were over a thousand people, many of them armed. Their orders were to arrest the tyrant who dared leave his exile on Elba. The officers moved about the soldiers, reminding them of their duty to the king.

Suddenly, a man approached on horseback. He wore a simple military greatcoat and a cocked hat with a tricolor cockerel at the peak. He stopped and observed the forces before him. He then dismounted and approached the soldiers alone, on foot. When the man was within earshot of the men, he threw open his coat, the Legion of Honor clearly visible.

“Soldiers of the Fifth, you recognize me! If any man would shoot his emperor, he may do so now!”

Following a brief silence, the soldiers and officers erupted into shouts of “
Vive
L'Empereur
!”

The emperor basked in the adulation for a few moments before returning to his horse. He had been called many things in his lifetime: genius, monster, lawgiver, tyrant, Defender of the Revolution, Destroyer of Mankind, but no one doubted his personal courage or underestimated his knowledge of men's hearts. Today he had reminded the world of those talents.

The soldiers sent to stop the tyrant instead joined the ranks behind the emperor to march on Paris.

Matlock Manor

“And then Aunt Catherine ordered me out of the house.” Colonel Fitzwilliam took a large swig of his father's port and looked around at each of the other men in the study, searching their faces for any hint of censure. His cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was his usual impenetrable self, keeping his opinions hidden behind his oft-used mask of indifference. His brother, Viscount Andrew Fitzwilliam, stared intently into his own glass of port, and his father, Lord Matlock, looked deeply disturbed.

“Well, you could not expect me to remain after that performance, could you? I packed up my belongings, gathered the documents there—” he pointed to the opened packet on the desk—“and left for my lodgings in London. The rest you know. What would you have me do? Father?” Richard turned to his cousin. “Darcy—come, man, support me!”

“You did no wrong, Richard,” Darcy replied.

“Could you have done better?”

Darcy hesitated.

“You see?” Richard cried. “You
do
think I failed!”

“Richard, that is quite enough!” Lord Matlock's voice boomed across the room, his tone indicating disappointment in Richard's childish display. After all these years, his son should have known that Darcy would always believe that he would do better in everything. “You did the best you could, son. 'Tis not your fault but Catherine's. I do wish you had not left Anne there, though.”

Richard colored, which was not lost on his brother. “Richard, is there something you have not told us?” asked Lord Andrew.

“No! It would have been improper had she come away with me. I could not jeopardize Anne's reputation.”

“Balderdash! A woman riding to her family's townhouse with her cousin and companion? Do not be ridiculous! You are leaving something out.” He eyed his brother. “Good Lord, you are smitten with our fair cousin!”

Richard did not answer.

“Richard,” demanded his father, “is this true?”

Richard shook his head. “We are not engaged. I have not compromised her, and I have made no promises—”

“Out with it! Do you wish to marry the girl?”

Richard sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Andrew snorted. “Fool! You will be a poor man if you do. Auntie Cathy will cut her off without a penny.”

“No, she will not,” declared Lord Matlock.

Richard was uncomfortable with this discussion. “That is neither here nor there. Anne and I are not engaged. Whether or not we do become so in the future is not relevant now. We are talking about Rosings. If we do not save the place, the questions as to inheritance for Anne will be irrelevant.”

Darcy turned from his usual place near the mantle. “Richard is correct. Rosings is the reason we are all called here today. We must discuss Richard's actions. Do you have any concerns over Richard's orders to the steward?”

The earl picked up one of the papers on the desk and closely studied it. Richard was suddenly struck by how elderly his father now appeared. For the first time in his life, Richard contemplated a world without Hugh Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock. The concept frightened him.

“Are these figures accurate? The harvest was this bad?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And all of the tenants are paid up in full?”

“Some were late, but yes, all are paid up now.”

Lord Matlock handed the paper to Darcy, who scanned it for a moment. “Good Lord,” Darcy muttered and gave the form to Lord Andrew. “I believe Richard was correct to order the rent holiday.”

“I only wonder why it was not done two years ago,” Andrew mumbled after a moment. Richard turned to his brother in surprise. “What? Do you not think I can add figures in my head?” said an irritated Andrew at the colonel's wonderment.

Andrew had changed, thought Richard. Viscount Andrew Fitzwilliam was the eldest son of an earl, and for most of his life acted so. Assured at an early age that he would inherit a title and a grand estate, Andrew went through life demanding respect he had yet to earn. When younger, he showed little concern for those beneath him and little deference for those above. The Fitzwilliams were taught to be self-reliant, but Andrew reacted badly to his lessons, believing his opinions were all that mattered. His self-confidence in his judgment and abilities became over-confidence.

Now Richard beheld his brother with new respect. Since taking over the day-to-day management of Matlock, Lord Andrew had shown not only greater responsibility but a bit of decency as well. Perhaps the viscountess had been a good influence after all.

“Father,” asked Richard, “do you approve?”

“Yes, you did the right thing—the only thing, rather. I do not like setting the precedent—damned inconvenient—but there is nothing for it. I am sorry you had to endure your aunt's wrath. You did not deserve such treatment, I assure you.”

“Will it be enough, do you think?”

“You did all that could be expected. Darcy?”

“I agree. The holiday, along with a good harvest, will make things right again.”

“It is not like the old girl will be too pinched.” Andrew was studying the personal financial documents. “She has certainly put enough aside.”

“Richard, what you have done may well be the saving of Rosings.”

“Yes, sir,” Richard answered his father. “Assuming Aunt Catherine does not undo everything I have done.”

“She cannot,” declared his lordship and Darcy in unison.

Richard frowned. “Why not? I have been meaning to ask you. Why are Mrs. Parks and the steward employed by you, Father? Why it is that Aunt Catherine cannot countermand my instructions? It is her land.”

“We have been given authority—” began Darcy.

“Hold, Darcy,” interrupted the earl. “It is more than that. I am afraid that you and Richard have not been told the whole story. It is my fault; I apologize.” The others in the room were taken aback at this admission. The earl never apologized for anything. “In short, Lady Catherine cannot countermand any instruction you give as my representative, Richard. She has not the authority.”

“But Rosings belongs to her,” cried Lord Andrew.

“No, Lady Catherine does not own Rosings.”

Astonishment filled the study. “What?” cried Richard. “Why… then who does?”

“Legally, Anne does.”

“Sir Lewis left Rosings to
Anne
?” sputtered the colonel.

“Yes, he did.”

“Why on earth did you not tell us?” cried Darcy.

Lord Matlock sighed. “Fill your glasses. 'Tis a long tale and better told over good port.”

After the glasses were filled and cigars lit, the earl continued. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but I must start at the beginning. My father was a man ahead of his time when it came to the education of his children. I, of course, received all that was expected of a gentleman and more, but my father also saw to my sisters' education. The best tutors and instructors were found; nothing was lacking. Father was particular that his daughters master mathematics as well as languages and the arts.”

He turned to Darcy. “Your mother, Anne, was an excellent student. George Darcy often told me that he had married more than a wife; he married the best helpmate and advisor he had ever had. I do not think he ever recovered from losing her.”

Darcy bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“Catherine, on the other hand, was a poor student. Nothing wrong with her head, you understand. Sometimes we all thought of Cathy as—potentially—the most gifted of all of us, but she never seemed to apply herself. She always seemed distracted… agitated. Oh, how Father and Mother labored to get Cathy to mind, but nothing worked. The only study that seemed to hold her attention was that of current society and manners. She was a severe disappointment to my father.

“When it came time for my sisters to marry, Father was happy to unite Anne with George Darcy. He knew that they would get along very well. With Cathy, Father was more cautious. He arranged for her introduction to Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a baronet he considered to be of good sense. Cathy saw Rosings and a title, and she was satisfied. Sir Lewis was a man who saw to everything himself and, therefore, was content with a good-looking bride. Catherine was considered quite a beauty in her day, you know, though she was nothing to Anne. Rosings was well run, so it had no need of a good mistress.

“But Sir Lewis was no fool. He and Father had long discussions, and many things were considered. I was party to the marriage negotiations, and after the marriage, George Darcy became an advisor as well. In the wedding agreement and afterward in his will, Sir Lewis made sure that Catherine could do little to damage his family estate. Rosings and the title would go, of course, to the eldest son upon Sir Lewis's death.

“Where Sir Lewis was clever was in the circumstance of his heir being a daughter. Sir Lewis wanted Rosings to go to his offspring and not to be entailed to some distant male relative. He also did not trust his wife to be a good manager of his estates. He knew she did not have the necessary ability to govern or to be advised. So he set up, in case of his demise, a system called
usufruct
. Lady Catherine would get the income of Rosings, but the ownership would be held in trust until his male heir reached the age of majority or, in case no son survived him, until his eldest surviving daughter married. When either of those conditions was met, Lady Catherine would receive the right of dowager, including the dowager house. He also named George Darcy and me, and our heirs, as trustees.

“When Sir Lewis died unexpectedly, George Darcy and I acted quickly. We made sure the solicitors understood the peculiar aspects of Sir Lewis's will and gained complete control of the grounds, farms, and household as trustees for Anne. The housekeeper at that time was considered too close to Lady Catherine, and the old steward was ready to retire, so old Darcy and I placed our own people there. We allowed Cathy to have power over the rest of the household staff as a peace offering.

“To say the least, Cathy was displeased by our actions. Our gesture was nothing to her. Oh, how she railed! She tried everything to overturn her husband's wishes and our efforts. She even had Mrs. Parks and the new steward's contracts burned. Eventually, she gave way, especially after we threatened to force her into the dowager house immediately as a matter of economy.

“For many years thereafter, George Darcy and I were responsible for the supervision of the management of Rosings. When your good father died, Darcy, you were placed in his stead.”

Darcy looked hard at the earl. “I thought that such an honor was given me in expectation of my marriage to Anne. You should have told me, Uncle.”

“Aye, I should have. I offer no excuse. I suppose I was afraid of stirring things up again with your aunt.”

Richard grunted to himself.
You
are
being
dishonest, Father. We both know Darcy. He never would have tolerated Aunt Catherine's behavior had he known of his true power over her. War between her and the family would have been ignited long ago. The inevitable has only been delayed.

“Father,” asked Lord Andrew, “what would happen if Anne never married?”

“The
usufruct
would remain in effect until Lady Catherine's death. It would be up to the trustees whether to transfer control to Anne or continue to act on her behalf.”

“Ha!”

“What do you mean by that, Andrew?”

“Do you not see?
This
is the genesis of Aunt Catherine's plan to marry Anne to Darcy!” He turned to his cousin. “There never was an agreement between my aunts for you to marry our cousin, was there?”

“No,” answered Darcy. “My mother wanted me to make my own choice.”

“But had you found Anne agreeable, would you have quit Pemberley?” Richard flinched at Andrew's words.

“Never!”

“Ah, the perfect solution to her problem! With Anne married to you and removed to Pemberley, Auntie Cathy would remain Mistress of Rosings rather than occupant of the dowager house. The income would probably continue to flow to her for Rosings's expenses. You always were softhearted, Darcy. It was never about blood—only money!”

The other men were stunned silent. The answer was so obvious they all questioned their wits that they had not realized it sooner. Lady Catherine's character was certainly capable of fabricating such a scheme.

Lord Andrew was in his element now. “It was rather clever, you must admit. That is why she never turned to you to take Darcy's place, Richard. You would have taken over Rosings in a heartbeat. No, either the old lady would find some other well-landed suitor for Anne, or our cousin would never marry!”

A blade twisted in Richard's stomach.

“I disagree, Andrew,” said Darcy. “Anne is of legal age; she can marry without permission.”

Richard hid a smile. Anne's declaration upon his leaving Rosings had given rise to a new hope. Perhaps Anne would marry without her mother's consent. If Rosings were indeed Anne's, she would be able to marry him without sacrificing her situation. Richard would not have to depend on a colonel's pay and could support Anne in the style to which she had been accustomed. Anne was of age; she wanted him—ha! He did not like the idea of making Lady Catherine his implacable enemy, but he would not let that stop him. If Anne would have him, let the old woman rage. It was her choice. There was nothing she could do to stop their happiness!

“Well,” Lord Matlock rumbled as he puffed his cigar, “I believe that Catherine will storm for a bit, but no harm will come of it. The important thing is that Rosings Park is safe.”

Andrew turned to Richard. “What is next for you now that Bonaparte is loose?”

Richard was pulled from his very agreeable musings. “The regiment is on alert, watching events in France.”

At that moment, the butler entered. “Begging your pardon, you lordship, but there is an express rider at the door.”