Trouble With Wickham (5 page)

No, Lady Catherine could barely find it in her heart to forgive her nephew, not only for the disrespect shown by ignoring her wishes, but for the humiliation heaped upon her innocent daughter, who was deeply in love with her cousin Fitzwilliam and expecting a future proposal.

As for his impertinent wife, Elizabeth Bennet, Lady Catherine was much astonished. When rumors of their attachment reached Rosings Park, she had greatly inconvenienced herself to travel to Longbourn and personally meet with Miss Bennet. Shockingly, her attempt to establish boundaries with the girl regarding her relationship with Fitzwilliam was met with disrespect; the young Miss Bennet possessed a sharp tongue and an arch manner. The visit was a disaster, the engagement was soon formalized, his betrayal unforgivable.

Obsessed by the turn of events, the Lady Catherine regularly opined on her nephew’s lack of judgment while holding court at the dinner table at Rosings Park.

“Fitzwilliam should not expect to remain unscathed by her verbal attacks. Mark my words he will regret his marriage to someone so unmannerly with a propensity to be uncivil. Don’t you agree Reverend Collins?”

“The former Miss Elizabeth Bennet does not shrink from expressing her opinions in a most forthright manner that I believe is less than ladylike, your Ladyship,” replied the Reverend Collins, automatically agreeing with his benefactor, as was his habit, while shoveling a spoonful of pudding into his open mouth. Mr. Collins did not think it necessary to admit that Elizabeth Bennet was at one time his first choice for his own bride. “Time will show him the error of his ways,” he said with the confidence of a man who would never be called on to defend his predictions.

Still, forgiveness was her Christian duty the Reverend Collins gently admonished her. “Peace in our families is a blessing we must sometimes achieve by our own efforts,” he replied sympathetically.

So chastened by her man of cloth, Lady Catherine concluded that her high rank required her to be the example in this instance. She would humble herself by forgiving Fitzwilliam first, even if he did not act with the deference she felt appropriate to her station. Fitzwilliam’s attendance at the Bennington Park hunt party, as a guest of the Radcliffe’s daughter Charlotte, was known to Lady Catherine before she accepted the invitation, and required a delicate explanation to Anne in private before their departure. Anne assured her mother that it would require little effort on her part to be cordial to her cousin and his new bride, and she declared herself eager for a change of scene.

Despite her disagreement with Fitzwilliam’s union, as her nephew he was due a wedding gift. Lady Catherine wanted to present an item that would simultaneously please Fitzwilliam and announce to his new wife that she was to derive no pleasure from the gesture. Therefore, a painted vase, an imported looking glass, or a silver sugar set was out of the question.

Instead she zeroed in on a stuffed falcon, frozen in time with his wings halfway aloft, that was kept on display in a dark far hallway of Rosings, near the north service door. Fitzwilliam used that door regularly, as it exited near the stables, and he often commented that the bird appeared to be watching him wipe his boots.

“A most magnificent creature,” Fitzwilliam was known to say, admiring her late husband’s shot.

The Reverend Collins agreed with her decision immediately, such was his propensity toward flattering his patroness. “It will be a thoughtful idea and a fine memento from your home to his, albeit a bit unwieldy to transport,” he surmised.

Lady Catherine smiled with pleasure at her idea. “Nevertheless we shall make an effort, though he does not necessarily deserve it, and present the falcon to Fitzwilliam and his,” she cleared her throat then said with evident disdain, “wife, at the party.” Embarrassing Elizabeth by giving a gift that was clearly not to her taste, in front of the other guests, was a small act of sweet revenge that the Lady Catherine could not resist engaging in.

“He has a passion for birds!” she insisted.

His passion for fowl was in deep contrast to his lack of passion for her daughter Anne, she regretted. Indeed, Fitzwilliam’s rejection of the future so lovingly planned out for him had caused unprecedented upset to Lady Catherine’s well-ordered life. She greatly enjoyed playing the role of victim, unjustly injured at his hand. Soon she was entertaining herself in her spare time by reflecting on the many flaws that her nephew Fitzwilliam possessed, and began to believe that perhaps he had never been the right choice for her daughter, as a reputation for being prideful and pompous had often followed in his wake. His refusal to perform for strangers, she thought, was a flaw not ideal in a spouse.

Indeed, Lady Catherine strongly believed that if she, with her high birth, was happy to dine at table with plain people, such as the Reverend Collins and his wife, and share her venison, her Madeira, her nectarines and peaches, then Fitzwilliam should see fit to do the same.

And the Lord in heaven above, she reflected, was surely looking out for her daughter Anne. While Lady Catherine was preoccupied with earthly matters, He had seen fit to move the puzzle pieces of life around and deliver a new suitor, out of the blue, seemingly to their doorstep.

Lady Catherine thought back with gratitude on that day, not too long ago, when a letter arrived via messenger at Rosings Park. She was taking her tea alone in her ornate sitting room in the late afternoon hours when her old manservant Edwards handed her a crisp letter with the seal of Bennington Park, Hertfordshire, stamped on it.

“Sent with the utmost urgency, I am told,” Edwards said.

Curiosity beset her. It was a missive from one Lord Hubert Radcliffe, introducing himself via letter, in an authoritative tone of which she much admired. His expose of the Earl of Buckland was deliciously decisive! How well she remembered his words, rereading them constantly to the point where they were almost memorized:

Under no circumstances should you allow your beloved daughter to become acquainted with the Earl of Buckland, who is known to be heading your way with spurious intentions
.

His protective instincts toward her daughter, whom he had never met and yet whose future he took pains to protect, endeared Lord Radcliffe to her immediately. And when the aforementioned Earl of Buckland showed up that Sunday at the churchyard at Rosings Park, oozing charm and expecting to ingratiate himself into Rosings society, he was firmly rejected, cut down as if he were a simple tradesman overstepping his social bounds. Buckland was never seen in the vicinity again.

In gratitude, Lady Catherine extended an invitation to Lord Radcliffe and his family to visit her at Rosings Park, he and his wife had accepted, and a most agreeable three days were spent together enjoying her gracious hospitality—dining at table and riding the grounds. Evenings were spent playing leisurely games of quadrille or whist while discussing Lady Catherine’s love of music. “I would have been quite accomplished if I had applied myself, for no one has better natural taste than I do,” she opined. Likewise, her daughter Anne would have been equally as great if feeble health had not prevented her from seriously applying herself to the pianoforte, she added.

It was with supreme interest that Lady Catherine learned of the existence of the Radcliffe’s oldest son, Hugh, as they sat down for a game of whist on their first evening together at Rosings Park. The future heir of Bennington Park was an eligible young man whom Lord Radcliffe assured her was definitely unspoken for. The wheels in Lady Catherine’s mind spun dizzily and she could hardly count the cards in her hand as her thoughts ran wild. Bennington Park was near Meryton, considerably closer than Pemberley.

Gone from her mind with a resounding whoosh flew all the pain and regret for what was not to be between Anne and Fitzwilliam. In an instant her mind’s eye had married her daughter off to Hugh Radcliffe, who would no doubt follow in his father’s footsteps as Anne’s vigilant protector until the day she died.

Relief flooded her heart.

She leaned toward her guests and in an authoritative tone announced, “We must introduce my Anne to your Hugh.” Looking across the room to where her daughter sat near the fire netting a purse, she shouted, “Anne, Anne! Good news! I have just learned that the Radcliffes have a handsome son whom you will soon meet!”

Turning back to the game Lady Catherine looked at her hand, laid down her cards and declared herself the winner.

Lord and Lady Radcliffe could not immediately think of a reason to object to Lady Catherine’s enthusiasm for the match. The aforementioned Anne, a thin, pale girl who sat placidly upright in her seat at the dinner table without uttering a single word, was an enigma to them. But the same cloud of mystery hung over their own son’s preferences, as Hugh was a careful young man who did not have a history of bringing home women or breaking their hearts.

In possession of an ample dowry, the young Anne was clearly not a gold-digger.  On the surface, she did not seem to possess visible charms of the type that rich men were known to swarm about; however, Lord Radcliffe had taught his son to esteem inner beauty and a good Christian character in addition to a fine female form; therefore he did not think Anne’s muteness or lack of vitality reason enough to dissuade an introduction.

“Perhaps the introduction to Anne is the push that he needs,” Lord Radcliffe wondered aloud, a mistake he immediately regretted.

“I am convinced that no other effort will be needed,” Lady Catherine decided, so convinced was she of her daughter’s desirability as a spouse. And so both families determined that uniting their offspring in happy and holy matrimony required only the necessary introduction of the two principle players. Lord Radcliffe offered up an invitation to their annual hunting party as a means to that end. The invitation was accepted immediately despite the warning that Fitzwilliam and his wife were already on the guest list.

Lady Catherine shook off any apprehension regarding the awkwardness of mixing socially with her nephew and his new wife. “A large hunting party on neutral grounds is a splendid setting. Besides, I will not allow Fitzwilliam to ruin every chance for my daughter’s happiness. There is no greater proving ground for the start of a romance than a country house party.”

“Is that not how we met, my dear?” Lady Radcliffe said, exchanging a look of affection with her husband.

“Is that so?” said Lady Catherine, gazing with approval at her guests.

Her unbridled excitement regarding the match caused the ensuing weeks to pass at a glacial pace. Lady Catherine was also brought up to believe that timing was everything; hence Hugh Radcliffe’s appearance in Anne’s life, uncannily on cue, was interpreted not as a matter of chance or coincidence, but as merely the graceful working out of her daughter’s destiny by a higher power.

The match was obviously meant to be.

Soon the journey to Bennington Park was upon them, the luggage trunks packed, the Darcy’s wedding gift crated and strapped securely into their carriage, and the party eagerly, if sleepily, set out soon after sunrise. They stopped for a small picnic on the way, otherwise the journey proved uneventful.

“Do not forget that Fitzwilliam and his new wife will be in attendance. Remember, we must act as if we had no hopes dashed,” she reminded her daughter as their chaise rumbled down the lane, nearing their destination.

“What hopes?” Anne asked plainly.

“Hopes that you would be the mistress of Pemberley one day.”

Anne blinked, unmoved by her mother’s disappointments.

“That was only your hope. Clearly he and I had esteem for each other but no other feelings.” Anne’s total indifference to her cousin, as well as Fitzwilliam’s reciprocal lack of interest in Anne, was plain as the daylight, but Lady Catherine refused to see.

Then, to please her mother, Anne added, “Fitzwilliam does possess many good qualities, punctuality being one of them and prudence. He is also a good shot. I am not unaware of his recommendations. I wish him and his wife a happy future.”

Lady Catherine glared at her daughter. Anne kept insisting that she was not wounded by Darcy’s abdication of his role as her future husband, nor did Anne profess to care about the low social stature of the woman whom he chose as Anne’s replacement. She simply did not understand her daughter’s emotionless affect towards Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Was there a man on earth who could incite her daughter’s passions?

At this rate Lady Catherine feared she would be reduced to dragging her daughter into the church once her eventual wedding day arrived.

In reality, Anne was eager to attend the hunt hoping to reconnect with Oliver Cumberland, Master of the Hounds. They had exchanged pleasant conversation last season, and what Anne considered to be meaningful smiles across the drawing room at the hunt held at East Chesterton. Anne had never forgotten Cumberland’s kind attentions to her and the warm glow that thoughts of him engendered in her in the weeks afterward. Cumberland did not possess the social stature that her mother esteemed, but Anne did not care about such niceties. She smiled at the thought of meeting with him at Bennington Park, with her mother blissfully unaware of her attraction to him.

Lady Catherine raised her eyebrows at her daughter’s calm demeanor, and then rapped on the carriage loudly with the tip of her walking stick. At her command the carriage slowed. She rolled down the window and shouted out impatiently, “How far are we?”

“Only a few miles more, my lady,” her driver answered.

“Do hurry!” she instructed, rolling the window back up.

Anne de Bourgh was not getting any younger.

E
lizabeth, Fitzwilliam, Georgiana and three trunks of luggage were packed comfortably into his new coach and rattling down Orchard Road in the glorious county of Hertfordshire. The ride from Pemberley to Bennington Park was equally uneventful and recently the countryside had become noticeably beautiful. Darcy leaned forward. “There is Buckland House,” he said, pointing out the tall glossy black gates with the golden crest of a lion as they rode by. “Now the property of one Duke of Rutleigh, bought for a song from the Earl of Buckland as a debtor’s due.”