The Ladies of Rosings Park – Chapter 8

Every Monday I will post another installment of my upcoming novel, The Ladies of Rosings Park, here at Austen Variations. The book (which will be out in mid-March) primarily tells Anne de Bourgh’s story, beginning with the period covered in Pride and Prejudice (the part I will be sharing here) and then carrying well beyond to her own happy ending. These early chapters, though, will read like P&P “missing scenes” – your favorite book from a different perspective.

The ladies who live in and around Rosings Park (Anne, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Charlotte) take turns telling the story. Last week in chapter 6, we heard from Mrs. Jenkinson for the first time – a little of her story and her observations of the young people at Rosings. Today, Anne, having come to terms with the fact that Darcy isn’t going to marry her, imagines her future (with a Duke, perhaps?). And now with the pressure off, she can relax and enjoy her cousin’s company. Would you have believed these two could have a real conversation?

(To catch up first, see these previous posts: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven)

– 8 –

 Anne

 On Being Well Out of It

I went to bed that night with every intention of having a good cry, of exasperating myself as much as possible over my lot and what I had lost. Although I was not yet convinced of William’s being in love with Miss Bennet, after seeing him (and John, too) so amused by another, one so different from myself, I was more convinced than ever of his never being able to love me enough for us to marry.

Despite my determined resolution, however, I produced very few tears that night, hardly enough to dampen my pillow. And of those I did shed, even fewer were over William himself.

It was true that I liked my cousin well enough; I had entertained naïvely romantic fantasies about him in my youth; I respected him as a man; and I would have been confident entrusting my future to him. But upon serious reflection, I knew I was not truly in love with him. Perhaps we might have learnt to be happy together had we wed, and yet I did not desire that either of us should be forced to marry against our inclinations. Even I had too much pride for that. If a man proposed to me, I wanted it to be of his own free will. If I accepted him, it should be on the same terms. Anything else would be a humiliation.

Once I became accustomed to the idea, a portion of my mind felt almost relieved to know I was released from my peculiar engagement, at least so far as any obligation to William was concerned. Mama was another matter. She would never give up. The only sanctioned release from her expectations that I could possibly envision would be if another gentleman with claims superior even to William’s were to come along. A duke perhaps? Mama might accept that. Mr. Collins was always spouting some flattering nonsense about how I seemed born to be a duchess. So that would please him as well, to have his prediction fulfilled.

The idea diverted me, and so I let my mind wander further down that path.

Where I was likely to fall into company with an unclaimed duke, I could not say. As for how I might secure him, though… Well, at least there I had no difficulty. It often happened that an ancient and noble family became impoverished over time, requiring a fresh infusion of funds to remain solvent. The titled gentleman’s solution was simple: marry an heiress. My other attractions were perhaps few, but my inheritance would be far from trifling.

With a little thought, it was easy enough to envision how it might come to pass.

A gentleman in significant distress of circumstances peruses a list of suitable candidates his solicitous mother or aunt has compiled for his consideration.

“…No, no, I will certainly not have Miss Eversleigh,” he says. “With her long face, I should be afraid of our children all looking like they came from the stables.”

His elderly female advisor shakes her head. “Tut tut. You exaggerate, sir, and you should consider that beggars cannot be too choosy.”

“I am hardly a beggar! I have a very fine estate and a very distinguished title to offer. All I ask in return is a reasonably attractive lady with the money to afford them. Now, what about this Miss de Bourgh? She seems by your account to be rich enough.”

“Oh, yes! She is the sole heir to all Rosings Park and considerable other assets besides – a London house in Bellgrave Square, an excellent stock portfolio, and a deal of money in the funds. Very eligible, I should say!”

“But what about the rest? Is she at least tolerably handsome and able to construct coherent sentences?”

“She is not a great beauty, it is true, but neither is she unpleasant to look at, for I have once seen her myself. I cannot testify anything as to her conversation, however.” A pause yawns, after which the lady resumes with less confidence. “There is one more thing to consider. Observe my final notation, just there,” she says, pointing to the list of her own creation. “It seems Miss de Bourgh has a somewhat sickly constitution. Could you bear that, your grace? It might be seen as a disadvantage… or as an advantage, although it may be indelicate to allude to such a thing.”

“Indelicate, but true. Once we are married, her fortune becomes my own. What transpires after that…”

“Yes, I see that you take my meaning. Well then, shall we keep Miss de Bourgh on the list?”

“By all means.”

Enough! Such a fate was too horrible to ponder. Sometimes my active imagination did me no favors.

Given the choice between this lamentable scenario and the original plan, I would have preferred marrying my cousin after all. At least there I would know he did not only covet my money, having plenty of his own. At least there I could be sure he held me in some genuine affection and, presumably, was not wishing for my early death.

But if these were my only alternatives, it seemed best that I should never marry at all. I considered the picture this raised in my mind for a minute. I did not need a husband to be content; I was quite certain of that. I had interests and inner resources enough to keep me happily occupied for years, and my large fortune kept the possibility of remaining single from being something to fear. If only my health improved, I could live and move about in society, completely respectable and doing just as I pleased. I would spend part of my time in London and part at Rosings. And I would by all means travel – to every corner of England that interested me, to the continent, and perhaps even beyond Europe. With my father’s cherished memory in mind, I would pursue all those exotic places I had read about. In my father’s honor, I would travel to Italy, Israel, and India. I would go wherever my fancy took me. I could afford it.

My situation was not so dreadful after all, I concluded. It was certainly nothing to sob myself to sleep over! But the tears did come eventually. They came when I remembered one more thing. If I did not marry, I would remain under Mama’s thumb as long as she lived… and I had heard her say more than once that she intended to live forever.

~~*~~

I watched with a sort of detached fascination to see how events would unfold. While my cousins remained, visits between Rosings and the parsonage house occurred nearly every day in some form or another. One or both of the gentlemen would venture out of doors ‘for some exercise,’ and inevitably it would come out later that they had taken in the parsonage on their tours. Sometimes Mama and I would visit briefly as well, or the others were invited to Rosings instead, giving more opportunity for me to observe how matters were progressing.

All this careful observation led to very few firm conclusions, however, my opinion frequently vacillating as to how it would end. At first I was convinced John would marry Miss Bennet. Without question, she seemed to like him best of the two, and their conversations were always light-hearted and cordial. But then I wondered if there could be any true passion between them, or if the match could even be eligible from a pecuniary standpoint. My guess was that Cousin John could ill afford to marry without some attention to money, and I doubted very much that Miss Bennet could have enough to satisfy his needs.

William had no worries of that kind. Still, I did not understand his behavior at all. He certainly looked at Elizabeth a great deal, but the meaning of his look was impossible to decipher. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, although whether it derived more from admiration, disapproval, or simple absence of mind, I could by no means be certain. He spoke to her so little that it was difficult to believe he wished to solicit her good opinion. He frequently sat beside her for more than a quarter of an hour without opening his lips. When he did speak, it seemed to be more of a sacrifice of necessity rather than as a pleasure to himself. No doubt Elizabeth was just as puzzled by William’s behavior as I. Sometimes, in fact, it seemed to me as if Elizabeth asked him a question just to vex him, requiring of him the inconvenience of forming an answer.

And yet on rare occasions, I caught a glimpse of something like a quickening in William’s expression when Elizabeth happened to turn his way, something that to me spoke of longing. It was as if in that moment the sun had broken from the clouds, and he found the thought of its never smiling on him again unbearable.

I admit to feeling a pang whenever this occurred, not so much from regret that William would never look at me the same way as for my being thoroughly convinced that no man was likely to ever experience that kind of anguish on my account. Was it morally wrong that I should feel thus, that a part of me should want another human being to suffer over me? The obvious answer was yes, but I could clearly see the other point of view as well… which always made for a more spirited debate.

One side proclaims, “It must indicate a serious flaw in character for anybody to desire an innocent human being to suffer torment!” The other argues back just as zealously that perhaps the person in question is not so innocent. “Perhaps it is only God’s way of teaching the guilty a lesson about the like pain he had previously inflicted on another.” Upon further reflection, I rule that the true motivation is actually the universal desire to be deeply loved by another human being, not a desire to inflict suffering, and therefore I am acquitted of guilt.

I should only desire the sting to last a moment, after all, that the situation would be such that I could quickly relieve the suffering soul with the assurance of his love being returned. The initial grief could thereby be said to have served a beneficial purpose, heightening the following joy by contrast.

Having successfully worked this out in my head, I applied it to the case before me. Would William’s current anguish quickly turn to joy when Miss Bennet accepted him? If asked, surely she could not refuse Fitzwilliam Darcy. Even if Elizabeth had no great affection for the man, who could reject such an exceptional offer? Oh, how dreadful for William if she did, or worse yet, if my two cousins should come to blows over love of her! But perhaps I had misinterpreted the signs completely.

The only thing I could say for certain at the time was that I stood to be vastly enlightened by observing this drama close at hand. Although on the surface, the dance proceeded as calmly and politely as anybody could wish, I believed that, underneath, dangerous currents pulled emotions to and fro. I could see the potential for disaster everywhere, and I did worry for my friends.

As for me, I considered myself well out of it. None of this could touch me deeply. Once I resigned all claims to my cousin, I no longer feared any personal ramifications at the outcome of these events. With no expectations, I escaped being disappointed and also the worry of being seen as a disappointment myself. With nothing at stake, I could not be injured. I was entirely safe.

Consequently, I grew considerably more at ease – with myself and with the others as well. With this deliberate alteration in my thinking, I finally felt able to take Mama’s advice about making myself agreeable to my cousin William. I knew it would not produce the results she desired, but I did not do it for her; I did it for myself. I decided it would be good practice for me. Besides, I truly was interested in William and his concerns.

“Tell me, William, what is new at Pemberley since last I was there?” I asked him the next time we were seated side by side. “Have you any improvements underway?”

He seemed surprised by my question but not unwilling to reply, saying, “There are always improvements of one kind or another underway, but can you really be interested, Anne?”

“I am. I have such fond memories of Pemberley, especially from when I was a child.”

“Very well. Here is something you will remember less fondly, I think. Do you recall that swampy area off to one side of the stream? It was down the hill from the house a fair distance. You and Georgiana often walked that way along the path.”

“Oh, yes! I know the place you mean. Because of the foul smell, we used to hurry past it, holding our noses all the way.”

“Yes, exactly. The stagnant water that collected there was good for nothing but breeding insects, disease, and rot. I always considered it a blight on the landscape, and now it is no more. I have had it drained and filled in. As soon as the grass covers a little better, it will be as if it never existed.”

“That sounds like an excellent improvement indeed. Has Georgiana seen it? I had regular letters from her while she was at her London establishment, and I know she went on to Ramsgate last summer. But I have heard nothing from her since. I suppose she has returned home to Pemberley by now.”

William glanced at me in a peculiar way, and then answered solemnly. “Yes. The situation in London did not suit, and now Georgiana is at Pemberley again.”

I wondered what I had said to spoil my cousin’s previously cheerful mood and, more pressing, if there was anything I could do to restore it. “It has been a great responsibility you have shouldered,” I said, hoping for the best, “looking after your sister these last years. I am sure Georgiana is very grateful for all your benevolent guidance and care.”

He was quiet so long that I thought perhaps he would not answer. I was silently blaming myself for once again saying the wrong thing when he began to speak, not looking at me but away, as if he were talking more to himself than to anybody else.

“It is true; the responsibility has been great, certainly more than what I was prepared for. My father trained me up from an early age in how to manage a vast estate, but I believe that is child’s play by comparison. I was not taught how to raise my sister, for nobody expected it to be necessary. Although I have always done what I thought was best, I have made mistakes. Georgiana has suffered for them. A young girl needs her parents to protect and advise her; that is the simple truth. Anything else is a poor substitute.” After a moment he seemed to remember me. “You must forgive my ramblings, Anne.”

“There is nothing to forgive, William.”

“You are a sympathetic listener, but I should not have burdened you.”

“Not at all. I have some understanding of the problems associated with growing up deprived of a parent. You know that is so.”

“Yes, of course you do. At least you still have your mother, though.”

“True. At least I still have Mama.”

(Continue reading Chapter 9)

Learn more about Shannon Winslow and her books at www.shannonwinslow.com