Anne lay atop her bedcovers, staring at the ceiling above her with great agitation. She had been thus engaged for at least three hours. Since the moment she had left her mother chambers and thrown herself most unladylike upon her bed. She was utterly exhausted, yet sleep she could not. Her emotions swung from furious heat filled rage, to annoyingly apologetic self-doubt. They toed and fro so quickly, she felt as though two separate entities were quarrelling within her head.
"You may leave"
"How dare she. How bloody dare she!" Anne all but snarled at the ceiling. She startled, shocked by such a fierce reaction. She flinched; she had sounded just like her mother. Oh dear, she fretted at such a comparison. She should not be so harsh upon her mother; it was not good; it was not kind. Unlike her mother Anne knew how to be kind, she should do better to be good. Anne so wished for her mother to think her good. She felt the flame within her grow brighter;
"BUT HOW DARE SHE!" her temper roared again in response.
Her mother spoke to her with no more regard than if she were a mere chambermaid. A servant whose presence was no longer desired or deemed necessary. She had dismissed her as though her presence was nothing; simply unwanted. Had she no care for her own daughter? Her mother did not even realise that Anne had left the man she so desired to be with always in order to return to her bedside. The man whom Anne wished never to be separated from. Her mother did not know this fact, as her mother would never think to ask.
Oh, if only Edward was here, she thought; if she but concentrated she was sure she could hear his voice. His words were always calming, his advice entirely sound. He would know what she should do, he would know how best to handle her mother. She was now certain that much of the reason she was enjoying London and ton society was in actual fact due to Edwards being with her. Perhaps he had always been her comfort. Perhaps his presence was the reason why she had loved her time in Scotland also. She just had not realised her feelings for the gentleman at the time. He gave her so much strength by simply being with her, by his genuine acceptance of her character. She could just be herself, and that always seemed enough to please him. His calm and unyielding attention to her person, his kindness and even temper had become so important to her own wellbeing. She felt alive and important when he was with her, she felt like the best version of herself. He appreciated her for who she was, and that was a rare and wonderful thing. Her mother had never shown any appreciation for her daughter's character.
She thought of her mother. Her mother had looked rather frail as she lay, eyes closed within her bed. Yet upon hearing Darcy's name mentioned her spirits soon rallied, her eyes bright and alert. Even without her many hair pieces, her turban and jewels; she had suddenly awoken, formidable and guileful.
Yes, her mother was conniving. It pained Anne to think it but it was true. Was it cruel if it was an honest observation? She bit her lip; her stomach churned anxiously at such a wicked casting of judgement upon her mother. As horrid as Anne felt for having such thoughts, it did nothing to discourage their accuracy. She had seen the light in her mother's eyes upon hearing she and Darcy were together. That she and Darcy had both returned to Rosings. Clearly her mother still held hope at the convenience of such a union.
'How very disappointed you shall be mother," Anne spoke aloud dryly.
She rubbed her temples. Her poor hair, so beautifully styled, lay crushed and rather frizzy on the bed beneath her. Poor Hennie, all that work and for nothing. Hennie. She would send for Hennie! Once she and Darcy had spoken to her mother, she would send a letter asking for her to travel to Rosings as soon as possible. At least she would have her sweet friend for company.
Oh, her mother! Her head was so full of thoughts she was struggling to focus! Think Anne think, she scolded herself. She considered their exchange again; her mother's demure, her reactions and her sharp tongue. As far as Anne could ascertain, she could not see a great deal wrong with her mother. She scolded herself. Of course, she could not see it! Mother was lying down resting when you interrupted her! What did you expect to find? Should you not be grateful it was not much worse what awaited you within her chamber? Anne shrunk at her own self rebuttal. Of course, she was glad to see her mother not so seriously injured. She was relieved beyond reproach. Yet, something did not feel right. Something about the situation just felt uneasy.
She sat up. It must be at least 9 o'clock now. She knew her mother was unlikely to send for her before noon at least, but Anne could simply not just lie here any longer. She crossed the room and entered her dressing area. She looked upon the rails and pulled open the drawers. Where were the dresses she had left behind? She had left several of her new winter dresses behind, she had not felt the need to send them onto London for the season.
Turning to open another drawer, and then another, she could not locate any such items. She looked at the dresses which did hang, solemn and heavy, upon the rail. They were all her old dresses, long before her time in Scotland. There did seem a couple of new additions but they were each as plain and austere as the next. She felt the angry ball in her stomach once more. How dare she remove her things. How dare she still try and control her person. She lifted down a grey woollen, what she could only assume, morning dress from the rail. She resigned to it being the best of what was available. She looked in the mirror at her glorious colbalt blue gown, rather crumpled but still pure joy in comparison to these monstrosities. She signed as she remember she had been sewn into the thing. Lord how she wished for Hennie. Ringing the bell she waited to she which of the household staff would appear. A moment later Mary appeared.
"Lady Catherine says I am to help with your dressing, Miss de Bourgh. Ah I see you have already selected a gown. Most excellent." Her eyes moved across the blue gown upon her person though she made no comment.
"Mary, if you would be so kind as to help me dress. I wish to take breakfast as soon as possible. Once we are complete, I would like you to send word to my cousin. I wish him to join me in the breakfast room as soon as it may be convenient."
Edward awoke with the most thunderous of headaches. A half decanter of port followed by one too many Scotch, and an ill temperament, were definitely not kind companions. He ushered his valet away with a single shake of his hand. There was definitely no need for any of that at this hour. He rolled over onto his back; his head pounding in protest at such an evil action. He was not due at the House of Lords until at least two. He would fester in the squalor of his own making. Brought on by his overindulgence in emptying the decanters in his study with only the company of an unsettled mind as his drinking companion of choice.
The more he considered his situation the more vexed he became, and it was not from the headache. Edward was not a man who angered easily. He was positive, nay certain, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was nothing but a lying, no good scoundrel.
A man's actions spoke louder than his words. Edward knew much of Colonel Fitzwilliam's actions. He had always rather liked the fellow, although they be very different sorts of men. Through general ton gossip and that of the talk at the club and card tables, he knew the gentleman was far from a saint. Did he really believe no one knew what was going on between himself and that silly headed daughter of Carmichael? It seemed Colonel Fitzwilliam had quite the reputation as a man with quite the preference for young, exceedingly impressionable silly girls.
Then why say he was engaged to Anne? His Anne. He knew it to be a falsehood. He should have taken Anne into his arms and asked her to be his wife right there on the dance floor; not graciously stepped aside, anxious not to embarrass the lady in front of her family. Ha, her family. Whatever the Colonels reasons for such a scheme so beneath him, really there could only be one logical explanation for his behaviour. He wished to keep him away from his cousin. He wished to keep Edward from asking Anne to be his wife. As if such a pathetic act would curtail his intentions. As if his word would alter the seriousness of his affection for the lady. Until Edward heard from Anne and Anne alone that she did not desire his advances, then he would not deviate from his original intentions. Let the blasted Colonel say what he so desired, he would not let it deter him. The only person whose opinion truly mattered was Anne.
With what can only be described as true determination, he rose from his bed and padded barefoot to the sitting room adjacent to his sleeping chamber. Pulling out the large padded leather chair he sat at the small writing desk which he used purely for personal correspondence. He drew a sheet of monogrammed paper towards him, one extravagance he would never apologise for. He would tell Anne everything, he would write to her of everything. He would tell her exactly what he thought of her, what he felt towards her. He would explain that if she had only remained last night, she would have heard these words from him in person. For that had been his intention, to tell her how much he adored her, how much he valued her company and admired her mind. She was the only woman whom he desired, the only woman whom he wished the spend the rest of his days with. She only had to say the word and he would spend the rest of his life making her the happiest of souls - for he truly believed in her his soul had found its home. His pen hovered a moment over the paper, a small dot of ink ran from the tip.
Why had she gone so suddenly to Rosings? This was the one unsettling question. She had left Hart's without so much as a goodbye, he hadn't even seen her take leave of the Bingley's. Richards words could not be true, they simply could not. Why the devil would Anne go to her mother to announce her engagement to one cousin in the company of another? It just made no sense. And above all, Colonel Fitzwilliam simply did not deserve her. There was no other man who could value such a woman, love such a woman, as entirely and as whole heartedly as he loved Anne.
Turning back to his letter. He wrote of his exchange with Richard. He wrote it all, of their so-called engagement and his refusal to believe such a story. He asked to know why she had left him so suddenly; for he knew there must be good reason for her to do so. He finished off his letter thus:
Write to me most urgently my love, for I must know your thoughts, your feelings on my declaration. I am sure you must know my heart. If such intentions are received as unwelcome, I shall not press you further on the matter. You need not fear my reaction, I promise you this. Though I believe your reaction to such a desire cannot be so. Simply say the word and I shall leave immediately for Rosings. I must see you.
Yours ever and always, your loving Edward.
He leaned back in his chair. Well, he had repeated himself somewhat and sounded rather irrational, but if that was not proof of a man much in love, he knew not more he could do. He folded the paper and sealed it, creating a perfect window in which to write the direction. Calling his valet back, he handed the gentleman the letter. A moment later he was once more on his own. All he could do now was wait.
"Do you not think it, well, rather beneath you? Even for you?" Caroline asked with much curiosity. She looked at Richard over the rim of her teacup. For the first time she had an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. It had been brought on by a passing remark from that retched Mr Montague. His words had been playing repeatedly on her mind all day. Why they affected her so she could not say.
"Even I know when to admit defeat. There is only so long one can try when it is clear your attentions are simply not wanted." She paused a moment. "When it is clear you are not wanted."
"Hold your tongue Caroline," Richard hissed, glancing across the room to where Mrs Hurst was busy turning the pages for Georgiana as she played some new tune or the other on the pianoforte. "It is by no means anyone's business but my own. Do not spur me simply because you could not achieve your ambitions."
"That is not my intention and you know it." She lowered her voice further. "Perhaps, whatever your reasons, maybe it is time to simply leave them be. Clearly Lord Colville admires your cousin, this can be of no great shock to you. Yet the deed is done, you have claimed your prize. A man such as Colville will not create a scandal. The poor fool I am sure, will simply take you at your word. Yet I must admit I feel sorry for Miss de Bourgh. It must be rather wonderful to be loved quite to openly by another."
"And you do not believe that I love her?" he demanded sharply. "Or do you think me incapable of such a wholesome emotion? Believe what you will Caroline, mark my words, Miss de Bourgh shall be mine before Michaelmas."
"And Rosings Park too," she replied calmly, taking a sip of her tea. "How picturesque the whole scene shall be when the first snow does fall."
He sat back in his chair as Georgiana's perfect piano playing filled the air around him. He eyed the woman opposite him coolly. He blinked slowly, breathing in deeply. He waited just long enough for her guard to drop. That small fraction of elapsed time; just enough to allow her to think her remark the final barb.
"There is a reason Miss Bingley, why despite your best endeavours, Miss Bingley you will always remain. Be it even a far greater fault than that of the mere unavoidable stench of trade which is so deeply engrained upon your person." He smiled at her. "If you want to play the game, at least have the honour to see it through to the end. Your faults my dear, are so abundantly present, one really cannot blame my fine cousin, or indeed any man for that matter, for not showing you one ounce of attention. You my dear deserve no such kindness. In order for a man to love, there must be something worthy of his affections. You are but nothing, a no one; you hold little merit and upon greater inspection are found entirely wanting. Now be a good girl and kindly remove yourself from my sight."
Caroline's eyes flashed with anger. This only made Richard's smirk all the more apparent.
Sucking in her cheeks in an attempt to at least try and maintain the appearance of composure; Caroline slowly leaned forward and placed her half empty tea cup and saucer gently upon the table. She sat, back straight and her head high. Her jaw was pulsing as she clenched her teeth. She felt her eyes begin to burn. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears. Clenching her teeth and holding her tongue, she rose, using the arm of the chair to support her. She did not quite trust herself to do so unaided.
"Louisa my dear," she called out, her voice light but determined. "I am afraid we must be off; it would appear I quite forgot we are due to call upon the Randall sisters. They will be most forlorn least we should forget."