PP AU Non-Canon General Regency

Ties That Bind

Previously:

"I have no idea. Perhaps it is not just Fitzwilliam who needs to come inside and relax." Mary took hold of her father's hand. "Whether or not those dreams mean anything, time will tell. For now, I suggest we go indoors. It is cold out here."

Rosings Park

Ch. 6

"You are impossible." Anne looked at her mother, who was sitting on one of the overstuffed sofas in Rosings Park's main drawing room. A dark-colored, decorative red wall was behind her. Lady Catherine was stroking Philip, her pet cat.

"Why are you so upset? All I did was ask the cook to bake an apple pie for Duke Smith from the apples our friend had preserved earlier this past fall."

"You told her to purposely put too much salt into it. And the dinner you had him served. Mother, what kind of reputation are you trying to get?"

"Mere technicality as to dessert. And that so-called gentleman deserved the dinner he was served. He always comes expecting us to wait on him hand and foot and shows no decent manners whatsoever. Loudly complaining he would gladly eat whatsoever is available for his own cupboards are on the border of collapsing, so I simply took him at his word."

"But Mother, roast beef, plum pudding, potatoes, bread, and beer? That is a pauper's meal."

"The man said he was starving and would be grateful for anything he could get his hands on." Lady Catherine tilted her head. "So, that is what we gave him. Then he had the gall to complain, so that is when he got that pie. And, no, I am not going to apologize to him, duke or not."

Her words, overheard by the staff, were met by mile-wide grins; none of the staff blamed the woman. No one had been impressed with Duke Smith. "I guess I cannot really blame you," Anne sighed. "I was just hoping he had not really acted as badly as I had heard."

"You heard correctly." Lady Catherine stood, put the cat down, and walked up to Anne. "You are a full-grown woman, not nearly as ill as you have been in the past." Her voice softened. "I have been too controlling, and I apologize for that. Please, Anne, you deserve better than that...buffoon, and I am being polite when I say that. If this is the best being offered, then there are worse things than going to your grave single. However, do not tell anyone around his group I just said that."

"Talking about what was said." Anne took a deep breath. "You never talk about the night Georgianna died and yet, I know, Fitzwilliam his doubts and so did my uncle. Why did my uncle not go search for the midwife and demand answers?"

"Oh, but he did. Fitzwilliam was simply too upset to know that is what his father had gone and done. And, afterwards, his father simply never talked about it around your cousin." Lady Catherine's reply shocked Anne.

"Surely he found the midwife?"

"Sadly, by the time Mr. Darcy found her, the woman was on her death bed delirious with a fever. None of what the lady as making sense. Her only words in regard to Georgianna all involved death, and then it changed to her and might as well die. Sometimes Georgianna's name was attached to the midwife's sentences, sometimes it was the midwife's own name, good grief, a few times a poor former maid's name was even brought into the jumbled mess. And of course, in that fevered brain of hers a thousand other details that made no sense were mentioned. Nothing the lady did manage to say coherently sat right with Mr. Darcy."

"So, you all just took it Georgianna really died and quit talking about it?"

"What else could we do?" Lady Catherine did not mean to snap, but she did. "A crazed dying midwife was not going to give us answers and its not like those names she shot out meant anything; they were not even around."

Anne knowing the topic was not going to do any good to continue switched back to the topic of what her mother had served for their meal. "You would serve that dinner we ate again, would you not?"

"I have done worse." Lady Catherine grinned wide. "One pompous earl got a pot of unbaked beans on one end of the table and another pot of cooked beans on the other. I told him Sir Lewis and I were just having a dreaded time of it that year."

"What did Father do?"

"Kept it together until the man left and then cracked up laughing as the real meal was brought in."

Anne shook her head as Lady Catherine walked out. She glanced out of the tall windows to the gardens outside, now blanketed in a soft layer of snow. The bare branches of the trees were dusted with frost, and the pathways were lined with delicate ice crystals that sparkled in the pale winter sun. Her mind then turned to Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth. Their wedding was just around the corner. No one would be serving them bad pie. And no one would be attempting to feed them uncooked beans. However, Anne dwelt on Mr. Bennet's dreams more than most would have thought, for Elizabeth had told them to her.

"I know I have not given them much credit, and maybe, I should. It just seems to me he is simply regretting the past and needs to let go of what he cannot change."

"But Elizabeth, does he act like that during the day? Most people I know holding onto the past show it in one way or another; when I have visited in that direction, that is not what I have seen."

The truth was Anne had no idea why the conversation weighed on her mind so much. She just knew there was a pull too strong to deny. It shouted there was help to be needed, and Anne was to give it. However, it was not as if she had anything invested in the Bennets. And as much as she and Mr. Bennet respected each other, they had no interest in each other in 'that' area. So, without telling them—or anyone—she had talked to Alexander and then asked an old friend to keep an eye out for the lady, and if she needed help, to tell her so she could send her the money.

"Do not ask her questions. Do not put stipulations on the help, just tell me so I can take care of it."

"Are you sure, Miss Anne?"

"I am most certain. However, do let me know how exactly much is needed; I cannot go by estimates. I do have Rosings Park's budget to think about."

While Anne was getting things ready for her own Christmas celebration, Charlotte was at her parent's place dealing with one very persistent William.

"Miss Lucas, I come to you with the greatest respect and admiration for your skills and abilities as a member of the fairer sex with the purpose of proposing. I am fully confident, as a clergyman with a good living and a secure position, I can offer you a comfortable and respectable home that no one around you could criticize. Though I am fully aware that our acquaintance has been of short duration, rest assured my affections are genuine. I truly believe a marriage between us would give us both advantages and be extremely agreeable. You possess the qualities of virtue and prudence that I have always admired in those around me. I would be most honored and humbled to make you my wife."

"And I have already told you, Sir, I have consented to marry another, and the gentleman has only been absent due to obligations in London. He is due here shortly. Our banns were read this past month. We are to exchange vows within the week."

"I understand some women think it is prudent to make a man think there is another interested in her but..."

"Are you calling my lady a liar?" A familiar voice spoke with an iron-vice-like grip to its tone behind the parson.

"I...I..." Mr. Collins turned to see Colonel Fitzwilliam standing behind him.

"I have come to collect my future bride. I would suggest you step out of my way." His eyes turned to Charlotte. "Shall I take your bags? I take it your family is ready?"

"Yes, they are, Richard."

Mr. Collins was left speechless as he watched the carriages leave; he had not believed the 'rumors.' No, the parson had convinced himself no one would even look at Charlotte, let alone the colonel who had always insisted he needed a woman with money. And now he was left to go home empty-handed. As the carriages rolled away, the winter landscape stretched out before him, the stark beauty of the snow-covered fields contrasting sharply with his bruised pride. The air was crisp and cold, and the bare trees stood like silent sentinels against the pale sky, their branches etched in frost.