Rosings Park preview #2

Rosings Park preview #2, by Jack Caldwell

Greetings, everyone. Jack Caldwell here.

I’m back with Chapter 1 of ROSINGS PARK: A Story of Jane Austen’s Fighting Men. Post one (which may be found HERE) gave some backstory as well as a couple of clues to not only this book but the upcoming BROTHER OF THE BRIDE.

(Wait. If ROSINGS PARK is the conclusion to the Jane Austen Fighting Men Series, how can there be another one?

Because I’m the author, that’s why. If I want to slot a book between this one and THE THREE COLONELS, I can. So there.)

Anyhow, you didn’t come here to listen to me prattle about a book that isn’t written yet. You want know about this one. So let’s get right to it. Here is Chapter 1.

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September 1816, Pemberley, Derbyshire

The Honorable Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, C.B., former colonel of Dragoons, stood on the front steps of Pemberley on a cloudy, chilly afternoon, watching a carriage as it began its journey back to Nottinghamshire. The grounds, festooned with flowers and flags swaying in the light breeze, pronounced to the world that a grand celebration had occurred that day. A celebration that would change Pemberley and its master forever.

Richard was dressed not in a military uniform but in a fine blue jacket, buff trousers, and an overcoat because of the brisk weather. The only indication of his former occupation was the scarlet sash of the Bath peeking out beneath his jacket. Richard was no more to go a-soldiering. He was now a gentleman farmer tasked with the management of an estate.

He was ill-prepared for his new duties. An adult life of marching, drilling, shooting, and killing did not a farmer make. He had much to learn and needed someone to teach him. Fortunately, his instructor was almost a brother to him.

He glanced at his companion and mentor, tall and dark, standing beside him on those broad steps. “Are you bearing up at all, Cuz?”

Fitzwilliam Darcy, owner of the Pemberley estate, allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. “I am tolerably well, Fitz. And you?”

“I? I have no complaints.” Richard’s light-blue eyes danced with amusement. “In fact, I am having a splendid time. It was not my sister who married today.”

“No, but Georgiana was your ward. I know you must feel it.”

“All I feel is pride at the lovely lady Georgiana has become. Or should I now say the Viscountess Llewellyn?”

“As you choose.”

Richard laughed. “Gad, you are dull today! Have no fears, Darce. Llewellyn is a fine young man. He will treat her like a princess. You should know—you picked him for her!”

A small smile graced Darcy’s lips. “I cannot take credit for that. Elizabeth made the match. I was allowed a veto. But you are correct: the viscount is devoted to Georgiana. I am happy they will be living in Derbyshire. Elizabeth would be quite devastated if their Ambervale Lodge estate was further than a day’s travel.”

Richard did not remind his cousin that Elizabeth would not be the only resident of Pemberley to be distraught at a more distant removal by the former Georgiana Darcy. Instead, he glanced one last time at the retreating carriage. “Speaking of living nearby, do you think the Bingleys and Bennets will reach Mayfield tonight?”

“They should. The roads are in good condition, but there are fine inns along the way, should that become necessary.” Darcy shook and slapped his arms. “At least this cold weather is dry! Let us return inside.”

The light breeze ruffling his sandy-red hair, Richard nodded, his ruddy face creased in a smile. “You know she is still holding court. Would you not prefer the billiard room?”

Darcy did not share his cousin’s humor. “I shall not leave Elizabeth alone with her longer than necessary.” The two moved through the door to the vestibule where a footman collected the gentlemen’s overcoats.

“I think Lizzy is in no danger. And she did promise to be on her best behavior.”

“All the same…” Darcy adopted his usual countenance for battle: he stood taller, raised his chin, and assumed a neutral expression. A marble sculpture projected more warmth. The only indication of his anxiety was his slightly longer strides as he walked to the sitting room, Richard at his side. The door was open, and they could hear a woman’s voice from halfway down the hall.

“In my day, the union of two august families would have occurred in town,” boomed a quarrelsome voice.

Darcy picked up his steps.

“And a service by a country parson! It is insupportable!”

“Of course, Lady Catherine,” responded a lady in a far gentler tone, “but brides must have their way, and Georgiana is so attached to Pemberley. Most of her family and friends are nearby and the viscount’s too. Nothing else would do. Georgiana and my sister Mrs. Southerland are quite close, and she would not have anyone except Mr. Southerland to bless her union with the viscount, not even her uncle the bishop.”

A third lady spoke up. “The wedding was lovely, Mother. There can be no complaint.”

The gentlemen arrived at the doorway. Even though she had been there for three days, it still shocked Richard to see Lady Catherine de Bourgh ensconced in a chair in the late Lady Anne Darcy’s favorite sitting room.

“I shall speak as I choose, Anne,” Lady Catherine said harshly.

Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, lovely but frowning, sat on a couch next to her cousin and hostess, Elizabeth Darcy. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne’s longtime companion, was in a chair nearby. Richard’s heart swelled at his wife’s fine looks, but the color in Anne’s cheeks was heightened by more than her pink gown. He was distressed at the certain cause of her displeasure: Anne was clearly exasperated with her mother. Richard was afraid she would respond with a sharp retort.

“Lady Catherine, I have not had the opportunity to ask your opinion of this room,” Elizabeth injected smoothly. “I believe it was your sister’s favorite.”

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. Richard wondered whether she suspected Elizabeth was patronizing her with the change of subject.

“Indeed, it was. We spent many hours in this delightful room, talking of many things.” The grand dame’s eyes turned to her nephews. “Many things. Darcy! I take it your last guests have departed?”

Richard shifted his feet uneasily and saw Darcy’s jaw clench for an instant. He suspected Darcy had the same impression he did of Lady Catherine’s comment of “many things.” She again was referring to her assertion that she and Lady Anne Darcy had planned a marriage between their children.

The old woman was stubborn. Darcy had been married to Elizabeth for four years, and Richard had married Anne de Bourgh ten months prior. What was done was done, and there was nothing she could do about it. Indeed, it seemed by her attendance at Pemberley that Lady Catherine finally accepted the situation.

And she had, Richard realized. Lady Catherine knew Anne was happy with her choice and Darcy did not regret his, but the obstinate old woman was insisting again that she was right, in spite of all evidence to the contrary. She was a fool.

Darcy nodded. “Yes, they have.” He turned to his wife, and the familiar soft look Darcy reserved for Elizabeth and their children graced his face. “Jane, Charles, and the Hursts should be safely back at Mayfield by nightfall.”

“It will be an uncomfortable journey. Hurst is larger than ever,” Richard could not stop himself from adding.

As he feared, he earned a sharp look from Anne. “Richard…” she said in that dangerous voice that warned of consequences for his impertinence. Lady Fitzwilliam was small and slim with a quiet demeanor, but for all that, she was a de Bourgh and was given to expressing her displeasure as only a member of that family could when provoked. At least she reserved her occasional reprimands for the privacy of their rooms—unlike Lady Catherine, whose frankness of character overrode simple courtesy like an avalanche.

Richard shrugged. He must be true to himself, and if the price was the occasional short tongue-lashing from his sweet Annie…well, he knew best how to placate her.

“I am glad to hear it,” said Elizabeth to Darcy before turning to her guest. “But, Lady Catherine, as you can see, the years have not been kind to the drapes in this room, and I fear the fabric will be impossible to duplicate. I was wondering, since their replacements will be new, whether there were any improvements to the room that might serve, all while respecting the wonderful taste of my husband’s dear mother. Have you any suggestions?”

Richard almost laughed. Elizabeth could not have said anything that would appeal more to Lady Catherine’s enormous vanity. Lord, Cousin Lizzy could manipulate a bloody bone from a starving wolf! Be careful, Darce. If she chooses, she will have you dancing from puppet strings, if she has not done so already!

A small smile stole across Lady Catherine’s usually dour face. “I must give it some thought. You are correct in saying this room is quite lovely as it is, but any space can use some restrained improvement. Restrained, I say! Too many young people these days change things just for change itself, with no thought to economy or tradition. It is always better to seek proper guidance.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Thus, my question, milady. My time in town has shown me numerous examples of what you have said. The tradesmen are happy for the work, to be sure, but ostentatious display is a poor exchange for proper understated English elegance.”

Lady Catherine raised her chin. “Very true.”

“Hah!”

The overbearing widow turned. “What was that?”

Richard covered his mouth. “Forgive me, Aunt. A cough. The weather is so beastly.” He glanced at Anne, whose eyes were shooting daggers at him. Oh, I shall pay for that.

“You should rest, Richard,” said his aunt. “You will be of no use if you fall ill.”

“That is excellent advice, milady,” said the bespectacled fifth woman in the room, one whom Lady Catherine was laboring mightily to ignore. Not only was Mrs. Tucker the sister of Mrs. Darcy and therefore of little importance, she was married to the lawyer who assisted the Earl of Matlock in overthrowing Lady Catherine and installing Anne as mistress of Rosings Park. What was even more distasteful to the grand lady was that the selfsame solicitor was seated right next to his wife.

“Mary is right, Mama,” said Anne. “You should rest before dinner.”

Richard saw his aunt’s lips tighten. Lady Catherine took great issue with Anne’s friends. She had no objection to Georgiana, now Lady Llewellyn, and she could not really object to Elizabeth Darcy, if truth be told. She would like the intelligent and witty lady even better if she could forgive her marriage to Darcy.

But people like Mary Tucker were, to Lady Catherine’s sense of entitlement, intolerable, as was Charlotte Collins back in Hunsford. And she disliked Caroline Buford, who remained in London, tending to her wounded husband. There was something of Lady Buford’s demeanor and independence that offended the old lady’s sensibilities. Caroline was similar to Elizabeth, save that her manner was more pointed and cutting and less witty.

Of course, both Richard and Anne adored all these ladies, which made matters worse.

But instead of resisting, the grand dame rose from her chair. “I think all the ladies should retire. It has been a long day, and it would not do to appear at dinner with tired eyes. Come, Anne. Mrs. Darcy, you shall accompany me above stairs. Pray see that tea is brought to my room.”

Anne assisted her mother to rise, and Elizabeth assured her that her request would be fulfilled. As the ladies passed the gentlemen, Richard saw Elizabeth wink at Darcy. Right behind was an unperturbed Mary Tucker, and Richard winked at her, which earned a smile.

Now that the gentlemen were left to themselves, Richard turned to Darcy. “We have some time, Cuz, and I admit I am a bit chilled. Do you have any of the excellent Cognac I enjoyed during my last visit?”

“I was able to hide a bottle or two from your clutches,” returned Darcy dryly. “What say you, Tucker? Shall I open one in honor of the day?”

“I have never turned down a Cognac in my life, Brother!” cried Thomas Tucker. What the shorter man lacked in height, he made up for in intensity. “Lead on.”

Within minutes, the master of Pemberley, the consort of Rosings, and the lawyer for both were sharing a brandy in Darcy’s grand study.

“How is the harvest progressing at Rosings?” asked Darcy as he settled down in an armchair, a fire blazing in the hearth.

Richard gestured at the flames. “What harvest? This damned cold has the crops in a terrible way. We had to reestablish the rents this year because there were improvements to drainage that needed to be done, but we shall be fortunate to collect anything from our tenants.”

Darcy was grim. “Conditions are bad everywhere. I am thankful we have so much in sheep, but feed costs have risen while wool prices continue to fall.”

“Yes, but you have your people, and they are devoted to you. Pemberley is an island of peace in a sea of troubles. That is why the riot in Leicestershire never touched you.”

“The Luddites are fanatics and fools,” proclaimed Tucker, who had many political connections.

“That is rather harsh,” said Darcy.

“Perhaps, but they do their cause no favors by their actions. It will go hard for them. The government is shaken by the poor economy and the unrest from it, and they will want to make examples of the leaders of the mob. Are things unsettled in Kent, Sir Richard?”

Richard sighed. “There is grumbling, to be sure, but nothing serious.” He paused. “Caruthers wants to leave me.”

Darcy sat up. “Your steward? He has been at Rosings more than sixteen years. Why?”

“He wants to retire, and his only daughter lives in Cornwall. Her husband is steward at an estate there. They want Caruthers to live with them and play with his grandchildren.”

Tucker smiled. “A pleasant way to spend one’s autumn years. When will he leave?”

“He said he will stay through the harvest, but he wants to remove to Cornwall before Christmas.”

“So, you need a new steward and quickly.” Darcy put his hand to his chin. “Shall I make some inquiries for you?”

Richard hid a grimace and, he hoped, his annoyance. “I would not refuse you, Darce. A list of names is all I ask. I can take things in hand from there.” He should have known his otherwise admirable cousin would try to manage things. “Tucker, would you be so kind as to draw up the required papers?”

“Consider it done, Sir Richard. I shall start working on it upon my return to town.”

Richard downed his drink. “Excellent! Gentlemen, what say you to a game of billiards before dinner?”

~~~

That evening, a robed Richard left the guest bedroom and crossed the small parlor to the door opposite. He halted, steeled himself for what he was about to receive, and knocked on the door.

“Come in, Richard,” said Lady Fitzwilliam.

Richard closed his eyes—he knew well that tone of voice—and entered the room.

He saw Anne at the dressing table, her back to him, running a brush through her dark tresses. Her dressing gown hung loosely from her slim frame. Richard noted that the maid had already been dismissed.

He gulped. It seems she wishes to begin directly.

“What on earth were you on about this afternoon?” Anne spoke in a low voice and did not bother to turn around. Instead, she stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Were you trying to enrage Mother?”

An instant apology would have been expedient, but Richard Fitzwilliam was not always an expedient man.

“Oh, come now, Annie,” he said, using an endearment to appease her. “How could I help myself after Lady Catherine’s ridiculous pronouncement? Condemning ostentatious display in favor of understated elegance?” He moved farther into the room and leaned next to the fireplace. “Rosings is the very definition of ostentatious display! You and I have discussed this, and I know well your plans to redecorate once this time of economy is past. At least I stopped myself from laughing in her very face.” He looked at the flames in the hearth. “Lord, it is warm in here!”

“That is because I am chilled.” Anne put her hairbrush down and turned to her husband. “You restrained yourself, and I appreciate that. But you know Mother can be difficult, and this is a very special time for Lizzy. What a triumph for her to have Mother come to Pemberley! Do you not know she has been striving for this since her wedding day?”

Richard was confused. “Why would she want Lady Catherine here after everything that has happened? My aunt’s behavior was abhorrent.”

“It is Lizzy’s nature. She cannot bear strife within the family.”

“It was no one’s fault but Lady Catherine’s!”

“Of course it was. But Lizzy knows how dear family is to Darcy. She would not be easy until he and Mother reconciled.”

“She is a better person than I.”

“You really should behave yourself. It may not appear so, but Lizzy is exhausted. Not only was she distracted by preparing for Georgiana’s wedding and recovering from Frances’s birth two months ago, but she also had to deal with the fact that Mother has not yet made peace with her brother.”

Richard smirked. It had been a comedy that morning to keep Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock out of each other’s way. Even though they were across the room from each other most of the time, Lady Catherine could still be heard mumbling about her conniving thief of a brother while the earl was harrumphing about his harridan of a sister.

Of course, there was no justice to Lady Catherine’s accusations. Lord Matlock’s “thievery” was simply the enforcement of Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s will, thereby bestowing upon Anne her rightful inheritance.

As for the earl’s complaints—well, it was against his father’s character not to reply in kind rather than take the high road and pretend his only surviving sibling was not making disparaging remarks about him.

The Fitzwilliams were a quarrelsome family, and no mistake. Thank goodness Richard’s parents left for their estate soon after the happy bride and groom departed.

“I am sorry Lizzy is feeling poorly. Should I apologize?”

“No, she would be mortified if she knew what I told you.”

“Hah! She is more like Darcy every day.” Richard walked over and placed a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I am sorry to have upset you, sweetheart.”

Anne placed a hand on his and leaned her head fondly on them. “Thank you.”

Richard smiled roguishly as he gently pulled his wife up from her chair and into his arms. “I know a better way of warming you than that fire, my lovely.”

For one so small and slim, Anne’s lips were exceedingly warm and inviting, and Richard could never quite get enough of them. Slowly, the passion in her kisses matched his, and Richard moved his hands from her waist to her bottom.

Anne broke contact. “No! Not here.”

“Annie, I beg you,” he whined, trailing kisses on her swan’s neck.

“I-I cannot.” She stepped away from his embrace. “Not here.”

“Sweetheart, I do not understand.” Except during their honeymoon tour, Anne showed a distinct aversion to making love anywhere but in her bed at Rosings. In fact, they had yet to make love in his bed, Richard recalled.

“I am…uncomfortable,” she said, clearly agitated. “This is Lizzy’s house.”

“Are you concerned that they will know we—?” He raised his eyebrows. “Gad, we are married! What do you suppose they think we do?”

She turned from him, tears welling up. “Pray do not press me. I cannot explain it, but it is impossible.” She started to cry in earnest. “I know I have failed you as a wife. I am so silly and foolish, and I lost our baby, and—”

“Never say that!” Richard embraced her from behind, setting her head back against his broad chest. “Things like that cannot be helped. There will be other children. After all, we have not been married a year.” He hoped more than believed his assurances, for he did not know whether Anne’s mysterious former malady—caused, to his bewilderment, by cats—affected her ability to bear a child. “I love you so much, and I want to make you happy.”

She turned into him, grasping him tightly. “I love you, too. I am happy—I am.”

For a few minutes, the couple stood in the middle of the guest bedroom in a tight embrace. Then, noticing Anne’s weariness, Richard gently guided his wife to her bed. Once she was comfortable under the sheets, he kissed her one last time.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he said.

She touched his face, her fingers tracing his features. “We shall be home soon, and all will be as it should be. Goodnight, my dear.”

Richard gave her a tight smile, extinguished the candles, and made his way out of the room by the light of the fireplace.

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Surprised? Have questions? I know you’ve got a few. Ask away!

Stop on by next Monday for Chapter 2. See you then!

Until next time, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…