Chapter 21

Rosings

One week later

Day of the Breakfast Party

A raised and strident voice filled the palatial quarters, at sharp variance with the lavish furnishings within. The harsh tones bounced off of Lady Catherine's favorite pieces of furniture, carefully transported to the former guest wing of the manor – far from the front windows and any passersby or approaching guests. Instead, the view from her new rooms was of the pleasant prospect of the fields and gardens of Rosings; a soothing sort of panorama that currently stood in stark contrast to the scene being enacted inside.

"Anne is not capable of being hostess to a dinner party, Richard, you must know that!" Lady Catherine insisted. "She is sickly and tired, especially since she is with child. I must preside over the gathering. I must!"

"You will not," Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam said flatly. In the days since he and Anne had announced their marriage, he had come to the conclusion that it was impossible to reason with his mother-in-law about anything. Since Anne was with child, it fell to him, as husband and expectant father, to manage the irascible, irritable, and often unstable Lady Catherine.

"You cannot lock me in here!" Lady Catherine cried out, striding over to the door of her room. She turned the knob and tugged it, then turned around and shrieked, "How can you treat me this way, Fitzwilliam? You and Anne will send me to my grave if you continue to behave in this scurrilous fashion!"

"Lady Catherine," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered, "I respect and honor you as the widow of Lewis de Bourgh and mother of my dear wife, but I am master of Rosings now, and since you refuse to acknowledge that..."

"It should have been Darcy!" the lady screeched. "It was always meant to be Darcy! From their cradles they were intended for one another, to join the estates of Rosings and Pemberley together! I could never have imagined that I could be so betrayed, nor that my daughter could be such a fool as to marry a mere second son..."

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed and gestured to the two female servants lurking in the background. Both had been chosen for their patience, their sense, and their sturdy forms; they were kind and gentle to Lady Catherine, but did not obey her. The two women moved forward and coaxed the raving noblewoman away from the door, and Richard knocked and called out to the guard outside, who unlocked the door and let him slip out.

"Keep the door locked unless there is an emergency or Priscilla and Gertrude request your assistance," Richard told the two manservants waiting in the corridor outside.

"Yes, sir," the two men chorused.

Richard nodded and strode toward the staircase. If the footmen felt any discomfort with their assigned temporary duty, they hid it well. The new master of Rosings rarely had to give the order that his mother-in-law be locked up, but with the breakfast-party this morning, it was imperative that she be confined and unable to disturb them. She yet refused to believe herself the former Lady of Rosings and yield the title rightfully to her daughter. Richard did not intend for her to cause any dissent today when he must assert himself and his wife as being fully in control of their estate.

Despite the trials posed by his contentious mother-in-law, Richard was happy. Anne was flourishing, no longer ruled over by her tyrannical mother. The midwife said that both mother and unborn child were well, which brought relief to his heart. Many of the long-standing problems at Rosings were finally being addressed and fixed; fields that needed attention, tenant cottages that required repairing or replacing, stables that stood in need of maintenance, roads that could use work and tumble-down fences being rebuilt.

Expenses for all the most immediately necessary repairs would be steep. He and Anne had discussed selling some of the more extravagant recent purchases by Lady Catherine and had agreed on several pieces of furniture to remove. Anne detested the décor in most of the recently-redone rooms, but it would be absurd to redecorate them again so soon. For now, they would sell off the more cumbersome or elaborate pieces and rearrange what they kept to be more pleasing.

Richard began descending the stairs in a rapid patter but paused on a landing as voices from below pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, resting one hand on the banister, to look down and observe the scene downstairs. His eyes were pulled to his wife, and he smiled as her head tilted up towards him.

As the servants that she had been instructing moved off, Anne Fitzwilliam looked up at her husband, standing at the railing on the landing above, and gave him a brilliant smile filled with all her pride and joy. Her heart overflowed with gratitude – that she had married a good man, and had thrown off the yoke of her domineering mother. Now, like a butterfly breaking free of its chrysalis, she was emerging into her own – mistress of the estate she had grown up loving. And finally, she and her husband would set to rights all that had been allowed to go unattended beneath her mother's management.

Her husband smiled back at her and descended the stairs at his usual fast clip to stand before her. "Hello, wife," he said warmly, and offered his arm. Anne lay her hand affectionately across his forearm, and they walked together into the drawing room, crossing to the window to look out. Already, a couple approached up the lane – their rector and his wife.

William Collins's spine was rigid with anxiety, a thin sheen of sweat beneath his hatband. He disliked change at the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times at Rosings. His much-adored patroness, the venerable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had been isolated for some days now, taken ill, and no one had seen her save the house servants, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and her daughter. Her daughter, was apparently no longer Miss de Bourgh, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam? Married against her wise mother's decree, not to Darcy as ordered, but to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?

He had discussed it the previous night with his dear Charlotte as she sat and sewed in her cramped little sitting room. She had, as always, been a pinnacle of calm good sense, hearing him out as her needle plied thread. Once he had orated himself into silence, she had agreed that it was all very upsetting, before making a very sound suggestion…

The fire crackled in the small dark room. Mr. Collins mopped his brow, his back to the blazing logs, and watched his wife for her reaction to his eloquence. Charlotte settled her needle gracefully into her lap and gave him her kind smile. "You are quite right, Mr. Collins," she had said serenely. "It is all very irregular and upsetting. But Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam are in control of Rosings now, and it would not do to upset them. So when we go to see them, we must remain very calm."

Even thinking of the previous night helped soothe some of William's anxiety, and he congratulated himself once more on his brilliance in choosing his dear Charlotte to be his wife. She had a knack for easing his stress that she shared with no one save the great Lady Catherine. Of course, now Lady Catherine had been taken ill…

Charlotte could tell by the way Mr. Collins stomped along the gravel lane that he was still distressed but trying to hide it. For her own part, she was quietly thrilled at the changes coming to Rosings. It had been growing increasingly obvious, over the past few months, that Lady Catherine was unwell. As dictatorial as she had always been, Lady Catherine had been descending into bouts of unprovoked anger and ever-more unreasonable imperious decrees. And it was unarguable that her ladyship's memory was going; she could scarcely remember what she had said the day before and often repeated herself throughout the day.

Charlotte saw much of the tenants of Rosings in her role as the rector's wife. She had witnessed illness, hunger, cold, and deprivation. She had seen ramshackle cottages and leaky roofs and cold grates. Even repairs that had once been grudgingly addressed by the House had of late been irritably dismissed, and circumstances for many families were growing dire. Charlotte had knitted socks and scarves for children and sewn dresses for expectant mothers. When Mr. Collins harvested his garden and she canned and preserved the produce, she would try to set some aside each time for the tenants who were facing the most want.

Already things were changing under the Fitzwilliams' purview. The Mason family's cottage had been re-roofed yesterday, and she was certain she'd seen Susan wearing a new frock. Charlotte rejoiced to see their wise stewardship and care for those under their rule. But, she reflected as she watched her husband's rotund figure a step ahead of her, she must do so silently; Mr. Collins, in his devotion to his patroness, did not share either her concerns or her joys.

/

An elegant and well-sprung carriage rolled down the hard-packed road towards the imposing manor half-visible through the park. The trees were in full leaf, bright and glorious new green, above a multi-hued carpet of flowers. Corncockles and anemones, daisies and bluebells, primroses and rioting climbing honeysuckle perfumed the air and colored the ground.

Finches and robins and wrens hopped cheerfully about, calling back and forth to the doves and tits and sparrows in the foliage above. Rabbit noses peeked curiously out of the underbrush, and out in the pastures, cows lowed contentedly over their cuds. Horses rushed up to the fences to watch the carriage pass before galloping off again, kicking their heels. Sheep milled about, bleating and grazing and staring balefully at the sheepdogs standing guard.

The party within the carriage was convivial, as lively as the scenery outside. The windows had been flung open to let in the spring air and let out the conversation and laughter. Darcy found himself smiling much more than was his wont. Two of his favorite people, Bingley and Miss Elizabeth, were both in the carriage as well, along with Miss Bennet, whose company was always amiable. He was looking forward to seeing his cousins Richard and Anne again, and making introductions.

Miss Elizabeth's eyes danced as she regarded him, and he found his heart beating faster at her cheerful countenance. They had been on good terms for two days now, and hope was beginning to blossom in his breast like the flowers outside. He was daring to think she might even have come to regard him well.

For his own part, the more time he spent in her company, the more impressed he became. In stark contrast to the pampered ladies of the haut ton, she greeted discomfort in her life with a cheerful demeanor. She had found humor in the vagaries of living in a mansion with only the barest of essentials, and was eager in her assistance with such tasks as measuring rooms and discussing new furnishings. Her advice to her cousins new-come from India and unaccustomed to England was both excellent and kindly, couched always in respectful terms. She was proving herself altogether admirable, he mused.

There was a thoughtful look in Mr. Darcy's eyes but a lightness across his brow, and Elizabeth smiled across the carriage at him. Rather to her surprise, he returned the smile easily before sinking back into his brown study, allowing her to study him without recrimination. He was undeniably attractive, she admitted to herself, both inside and out; his well-formed person was complemented by a responsible, dutiful, and kindly nature.

Nonetheless, there was no reason to think anything could ever come of such an attraction – he could have his pick of high society ladies with much greater fortune and connections. True, she was now related by marriage to the Earl of Chartham, so she had that at least. But she did not desire a marriage based on connections and practicality. She desired love built on a firm foundation of respect. Like the burgeoning relationship between her elder sister and Charles Bingley.

Bingley gazed with rapt adoration at the angelic face of his beloved as she leaned forward to see out of the window more easily, exclaiming in delight over the profusion of flowers lining the avenue. He desired nothing more than to spend every day of the rest of his life by Jane's side, he thought. He believed that she would be receptive to his proposal. She showed every sign of returning his affections, he thought hopefully. He did not wish to appear too assured, as though he were taking her attachment for granted, but nor did he wish to appear reluctant by taking too long. It was quite the quandary.

Jane looked up at Mr. Bingley, seated across from her in the carriage. As she met his eyes, a worried crease smoothed out of his brow, and he beamed a beatific smile her way, which she answered even as she felt a cloud settle over her own soul. For some time now, she had been confident that Mr. Bingley would propose soon, but as time passed, anxiety began to replace the confidence.

She wondered uneasily if her distress over the abandonment at Netherfield had discouraged him. Perhaps he thought her too dramatic, and feared he would bring another shrew into his life? Perhaps she should make plainer her gratitude that he had chosen her over his sisters – she knew it could not have been an easy decision for him.

/

A full mile behind the vehicle that carried Darcy and his companions toward Rosings, another carriage trundled along. This one was not nearly as well sprung as the other carriage, and the occupants found themselves uncomfortably jolted by the various bumps and dips in the road. Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Lord Chartham, and Lady Rebekah, were used to the vagaries of travel in ships and donkeys and even on the backs of bearers, and were not discomposed in the least by the movement. That was not to say that they were entirely calm, any of them.

Mrs. Sophia Gardiner had the best idea of what was coming. As the daughter of a viscount, she had been raised in noble circles. She knew well what the English upper crust was like. After her mother had died, a series of governesses had devoted themselves to preparing her for her life in society. Her father, Viscount Grayson, had been entirely indifferent to her, save as to how her eventual marriage could serve his aims.

He had succeeded, of course. She had wed Peter Hamilton, youngest son of the dissipated Earl of Chartham, only to be widowed a mere handful of years later after a passionless but amiable marriage. And then, by the grace of God, she and her two children had been whisked off to India by Aaron Gardiner, whom she had loved when they were younger.

She had been happy in India. She had been with the man she adored and her dear children, a simple wife and mother with no societal pressures. It had been a good life, joyful and warm as she raised her brood herself with no cruel governesses lording over them, and a father who was loving and present.

All that had changed with the death of her first husband's father and elder brothers. Now Philip was the new Earl of Chartham, and all her children were being precipitated into the malignant atmosphere of English aristocracy. It would be quite different from their childhood in India, and concern stirred within her at how they would cope with the changes, as she watched her daughter, Rebekah.

Lady Rebekah Hamilton was restless. Her gaze flickered between the lovely scenery outside the window, her calm-faced parents, her brother seated beside her on the threadbare cushions, and her own lavender dress. She glanced down at her lap, running one gloved hand down the lavender muslin, worn in half-mourning for the grandfather and uncles she had never known who had fallen to smallpox.

It was not her best color, she knew. It made her look pallid. She was aware of the need to impress those whom they would be meeting today, and looking washed-out did not seem the best way to do so. She thought wistfully of her blue and green frocks, which flattered her much better, hanging back at Rockhill, where Ruth and Alexander had stayed. Rebekah wished very much that she could have stayed with them.

Her glance strayed to Philip, smiling dreamily out of the window, one well-shod foot tapping slightly on the rough boards of the bottom of the carriage. He was probably thinking of music, she thought enviously, to be so serene. She wished she could be that untroubled.

Philip, Lord Chartham barely took in the idyllic spring day outside the carriage window. His mind was fully occupied with playing Mozart's 40th symphony in his head. Every so often, uneasy thoughts would intrude – his uncertainty about how to act in company, his own societal rank that placed him above his mother and well above his step-father, Aaron Gardiner, who was more a father to him than Mr. Peter Hamilton, who had died so many years ago on the field of battle. He disliked these social demands on him immensely, and drowned out these trepidations with imagined violins and cellos.

Aaron Gardiner looked around the inside of the carriage, worry and affectionate pride in his eyes. He loved his family so much – his dear wife, his two eldest children, the two younger ones who stayed back at their new home. He wished only to protect them forever, but he could not, and today they would be stepping into an entirely new and alien situation. They would be surrounded by the local high society families, and he, as a son of trade, would be only grudgingly and coolly welcomed by the Fitzwilliams' guests. To intercede for his family should they be treated with disdain would likely only make the situation worse.

He hoped his interference would not be necessary, however. He trusted that the Fitzwilliams would not invite anyone too haughty, and he was confident that their hosts, Mr. Darcy and his nieces, would defend his family as needed. His children were delightful people in their own right, and he harbored a hope that they would charm their new peers as they charmed so many others.

His thoughts were interrupted by his wife's voice.

"I believe that must be Rosings," Sophia Gardiner said with resolute calm. The family members turned to stare out the window as the imposing brick façade of a great house came into view.

"We have arrived," Aaron said with a determined smile at his family.

"Yes," Lady Rebekah agreed, taking a deep breath. "Yes."

/

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Author Note: Thanks everyone for reading and commenting. Two chapters today! :-)