Richard stood, shielded by a vast oak as he looked across the lawn towards the immaculate Mayfair townhouse. He was in good humour having spent a jolly fruitful morning at the Carmichael residence; he adored above all else, a breakfast invitation. Although he found Lord Carmichael's conversation to be rather dull and lacking in humour, the table had been without fault.
Upon his arrival he was admitted to their finely appointed drawing room to be met with the most wonderful array of baked cake goods. All his favourites were present; honey cake, plum cake, sticky brioche and other types of French bread; all just perfect for dipping into hot chocolate. There had been an assortment of small, iced spherical buns which he was unfamiliar with. One in particular tasted strongly of caraway seeds; he ate four. Another wonderful advantage to Carmichael's table was his inclusion of not only tea and coffee, but that of free-flowing hock. German wines were satisfactory, but the greatest tragedy of war with France had to be the lack of good claret.
Lady Carmichael was a most elegant host, with quiet poise and the sort of temperament that was happy to leave the conversation to that of her husband. The aging beauty simply sat, smiling at all the appropriate moments; leaving the gentleman to converse, while ensuring their glasses never emptied above half. Their daughter Annabelle was just as excellent in temper as her mother, but possessed the added value of beauty. The fleeting advantage of youth. With no sons and a large estate in Norfolk in need of a future master; Richard believed the breakfast to have been quite satisfactory.
He was now staying at the Darcy townhouse, having settled himself just two days hence. He was now making his return through Mayfair from breakfasting with the Carmichael's when he could not help but be drawn into the park at Grosvenor Square. He stood; his eyes fixated on number twelve. He had seen a fine dressed lady, well passed her prime years, enter above fifteen minutes ago. Surely, she must be due to depart. It was not the done thing to call on a person for such a lengthy period of time. He kicked at the grass beneath his boots. What on earth was he doing sulking around in the shrubbery!
He knew it was foolish, hiding from view in order to observe number twelve, but he could not help it. The thought of Anne in London, so close but yet so far, was a distraction when he allowed his mind to wander. As he crossed the Mayfair streets on his return from the Carmichael's he could not help but be drawn in the direction of the park. He could not avoid her forever, he also did not wish to.
His feelings for Anne were complex indeed. He was most certain in his youth he had loved her. How could he have not? Her sweet, genteel manner, easy temper and shy timidity he found most endearing. It was likely the most genuine love Richard had ever felt towards anyone. Although fond of lively conversation and quick wit, Richard had no such desire to tie himself to such a livewire as a wife. Winning Anne's young, unspoilt heart would have been convenient in many ways.
Although he cared for Darcy like a brother, he had always felt a stab of jealousy that his cousin was just to be given such a prize as his wife on top of his already rather fortunate position in life. Darcy it seemed had it all. The eldest son of a fine fortune, with good looks and the sort of stature which just demanded respect. His own brother Richard had never envied, but Darcy, one could not but feel in his shadow.
He thought back to that summer in Yorkshire, he had been but six and twenty. He had been in the militia since twenty two, and although he enjoyed it immensely, each time he returned to Matlock he could not but feel but put out that he had to earn his own living. He missed the comforts of his childhood home.
That summer he had a full month's leave which he spent with greatest pleasure at home, surrounded his family. It had been an added pleasure to find his aunt Lady Catherine and Anne amongst the party. His aunt was a prickly old bat, but Richard could easily play to her ego. The stay was made even more pleasant by Darcy's absence, for this left Richard to focus his sole attention on Anne for his own amusement. He was not entirely sure how it had begun. He had always been fond of Anne. She was the purest example of a kind heart and sensible mind. Yet after only a few days in her company he felt himself drawn to her physically in a way he had never experienced before. He could not but help admire her.
Perhaps, at first, he had thought it an amusement. Could he sway the heart of Darcy's intended bride? He was certain Darcy did not appreciate her good nature and amber eyes. Her charming demureness and naivety when it came to the intentions of men only added to the appeal of such a challenge. He wanted Anne to fall in love with him. He had wanted a win to hold over Darcy. For once he wanted Darcy to be second best. Richard had not expected in pursuit of fulfilling this ridiculous rivalry that he would genuinely loose his heart in the process. The more time he spent playing the role of potential lover, the more he lost his good sense. What had started purely as a rather selfish game became an infatuation.
The more time he spent with Anne, the more he genuinely felt bewitched by his cousin. Her almost iridescent skin against the richness of her auburn hair made him think of desires that would make a sailor blush. When had little Anne grown into such a woman? She was everything he could ever wish for, he could not have imagined a more perfect partner. Upon his return to his regiment he had felt truly forlorn at their separation. He had written to her of everything and of nothing. He never spoke of love, although he expressed his admiration for her profusely, love was not a word to be used too hastily. He had decided after several back and forth letters, that he would ask for her hand. If the family were so inclined to see Anne marry one cousin, surely there could be no objection to another? Of course, in reality, such matters rarely run smoothly.
Although his brother Henry was to inherit the family title and estate, in truth he would also need to marry well in order to keep the old place afloat. Generations of lavish spending, years of bad investment and a father who continued to pay no heed to the lack of coin in his purse; had left what remains of the family fortune rather depleted.
In truth a soldier's life suited Richard well. He respected and cared for his men deeply. He enjoyed being amongst the company of likeminded men, and excelled in the need for strategic thought. Although Richard enjoyed the militia, he was now one and thirty. His time deployed abroad over the last two years had only made him realise it was no place for a man as he began to advance in years. The stiffness in his left knee often gave him cause for concern. It was time for Richard to marry and marry well he must. He was built for the finer things in life, the comfort and pleasures which only money could afford. He was happy to exchange his red coat for a cravat and smoking jacket.
Yet as things stood, he was not yet sure how to play this particular strategy. He had already been disappointed on several occasions. Last year he had all but been certain that a most suitable understanding had taken place between himself and a Miss Cara Hislop, but to no avail. The silly girl, after months of doe eyed looks and smiles intended for her benefit alone, she had gone off with some other fellow. It seemed nothing was sacred amongst the gentleman of the ton anymore, with new money awash in society, it was every poor man for himself.
He had been working old Carmichael for some time now. Strategic operations were always easier once a parent became an ally. Annabelle was a shy, quiet girl of eighteen, though rather empty headed. She welcomed Richards attentions most willingly. Her golden hair and pink cheeks were pleasing on the eye; and her sizeable dowry a most pleasing inducement. Lord Carmichael was a frequent patron of Whites gaming hall and as such was a member of Richards acquaintance. One particular evening, after far too much sauce, Carmichael had shared with Richard a rather interesting piece of news. Carmichael was in the process of petitioning to have Parliament amend the patent to allow the peerage of his title to pass to his only daughter upon his death. The large estate and all that went with it would then pass from his daughter to her future son. A sizeable fortune and an estate with a peerage attached had been too handsome an opportunity not to pursue. The fact that Lady Annabel was reasonably pleasing on the eye had only added to the convenience of such a potentially advantageous match. Although her conversation was lacking, he was in no way above taking a silly woman for his bride, especially when it came with such an attractive financial package.
Perhaps in time, his heart would yield. This was his problem. Anne was far superior to any other woman he had this far pursued, and there had been several. Yet, what Richard wished for above all else was recognition. Although the younger son of an Earl, his pedigree was faultless. His militia career was impeccable and he possessed such a skill as to make himself most appealing in company. If his courtship of Lady Annabel was successful, this meant his future son would have more than just wealth and breeding, he would own seat and title. Even with his recent discovery of her inheritance; the feelings he felt towards Anne could not compete with the potential of a Barony for his offspring.
Yet, Richard was certain he could win Anne's heart. Anne belonged to him. He should have known better than to yield to his aunt Catherine's blatant refusal that Anne would never accept a match so beneath her expectations. Yet Lady Catherine's desire to see Anne as mistress of Pemberley was not meant to be. It seemed neither cousin had any intention of fulfilling that family prophecy. If only Richard had known this fact sooner. Perhaps there was a time when the love alone would have been enough to secure his future happiness. Poor Lady Catherine, Richard thought with a smirk, how her heart must ache and her blood boil at such an outcome.
It was at that moment the door of number twelve opened and the well-dressed lady re-entered the street. If he were to call now, he would he likely find Anne on her own. He could not lie such a notion was most appealing. He had never even considered that Anne would be the sole benefactor from her father's will. It had never occurred to him that she would take full possession of her father's entire estate. Yet Anne was sole heiress to it all. He thought of Sir Lewis, he had always liked his kindly uncle as a child. How such an excellent man endured Lady Catherine for a wife he did not know.
He kicked at the grass under his boot for the umpteenth time. What to do? He was almost certain that there was still a spark of attraction between them both. That moment in the grounds at Rosings, after Anne had almost run him down with her bloody phaeton, only confirmed as much. He had been so close to kissing her, if only he had! He had won her heart once, surely, he could capture it again. Her recent stay in Scotland followed now by her staying in London for the season, seemed to suggest Anne no longer lived under the shadow of her mother's rule. Richard need not worry on that interference again.
His decision made, he crossed the lawn and marched towards the door of number twelve. Taking a deep breath, he rang the bell and waited.