“I shall only be obliged to do my duty to George, and try again for another child. I fear I am cursed! Every time there is a birth at Matlock, there is tragedy at Pemberley. I cannot bear another miscarriage, or stillborn, or an infant who lives only a fortnight – and sometimes I fear worse, as if there may be some repetition of… the incident with my poor Fitzwilliam.”
A tear rolled down Lady Catherine’s cheek, and she brushed it away before her sister could see. “You cannot mean to avoid your husband’s bed, Anne – yours was the great love match of the family! I am astonished you should speak of the marital act as aduty; you once drove me to distraction with tales of your… marital satisfaction.”
Anne smiled sadly. “I did love him once, very much. We were so happy together, those first years, before… After all that has happened, he is not the same man as he once was. We are both altered by so much grief, and he has dwelt solely upon his own. The only thing that brings him any pleasure is Wickham’s boy, his namesake. I cannot stand it, and I know he comprehends how it pains me, but he cannot help himself.”
Lady Catherine softened in indignation. “If you should like to contrive some reason for your husband to dismiss his steward, I shall consult with Henry when I am next in London. He might make it so that George discovers some misappropriated funds….”
“Oh, Cathy, I could not do that! You are dreadfully Machiavellian at times,” Anne said, swatting at her and attempting a smile. “No, I cannot deprive my husband of anyjoy, and I am sure I shall wish to try again to make an heir, eventually.”
“Well, I daresay he is preoccupied with the harvest; he shall not miss you for some weeks yet, if you are not ready to return home. You were meant to be another fortnight in London, were you not? Stay here with me, if you like.”
“That is just what I wish! Rosings is so lovely at this time of year, in a gloomy sort of way.” Anne stared out the window at the golden array of trees and gave a wistful sigh. She was the poet of the family, and often teased that she had her brother and sister’s share of sentimentality.
“If you will stay a month complete, I might go as far as London with you, for after I have seen to my own harvest, I intend to speak to Henry about Anne and young Reginald.”
“Really, Cathy, she is four years old!”
Lady Catherine shook her head. “Well, it seems that scolding me has cheered you.”
The sisters shared a look of wry affection, for different as they were, they had ever been fondly attached. Lady Catherine had not her younger sister’s wit and whimsy, but she had always been protective of Anne’s blithe spirit. As the eldest, she had practically raised her brother and sister, and even now she took all their concerns to heart.
“We will see you returned to your usual serenity, my dear Annie. You are not yet thirty – I was two years older when I delivered your namesake, after a few unsuccessful attempts of my own. I will not allow you to give up hope – I forbid it!”
Anne smiled and clasped Lady Catherine’s hands. “I knew I did well in coming to you.”
“And you have come on an auspicious day! Fanny Bennet is to be wed this morning; indeed, I believe we have but half anhour before we ought to make our way to the church. I know she would be delighted if you would join us.”
“Of course I shall; Mrs. Bennet is such an amusing young woman! Might I greet her now?”
Lady Catherine hesitated, then stood and gestured toward the doorway. “You may come upstairs – I believe she is with the girls.”
Something bittersweet shaded Anne’s gaze, but she forced a smile and nodded her assent. They made their way toward the stairs, when Anne tripped on the upturned corner of a rug and stumbled into her sister. “Oh!”
Anne bent down to put the rug back in place, and then looked at a nearby potted fern with astonishment. Lady Catherine followed her sister’s gaze; behind the large plant was a small child.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” Anne said to the girl, extending her hands. Elizabeth Bennet clutched at a doll in her arm and slowly crawled out from behind the fern. Anne instantly scooped the girl into her arms with a bright smile. “Miss Lizzy, is it not? Do you remember me?”
Elizabeth screwed up her face with concentration, grabbing Anne rather roughly by the nose as she turned her face this way and that to examine her face. Then the darling three-year-old pronounced her favorite word, “No.”
“Well, I remember you. You were much smaller when I saw you at Christmas,” Anne said. Her easy manner with the child could not conceal from Lady Catherine how much Anne wished to be a mother once again. Perhaps a daughter might suit her better than a son.
“At Kissmas, Mamma said I can play in the snow with the big kids,” Elizabeth said with a stout nod.
“What an accomplishment for you,” Anne agreed.
Elizabeth looked almost pensive as she considered her next declaration. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Mamma said we have to live with the man who smells funny. His face is… bad.”
“You may have a point,” Anne said, turning to Lady Catherine with a look of mirth. “But I suppose if one cannot have a handsome vicar, a kind one will do. Is Mr. Cardew very amiable, Miss Lizzy?”
“He talks silly!” Forgetting about the doll tucked under her arm, Elizabeth clapped her hands and gave a peal of wild laughter. “I had a dream he fell down in the mud!”
Lady Catherine retrieved the doll and returned it to the child, attempting to give her a stern look. “That was not a dream, Poppet; that was Tuesday. But heisa nice man, is he not? He promised to bring you and Jane flowers today, when we go to the church. But you must be a good girl and listen in silence.”
“And then I can have cake!”
“Cathy, you did not mention the cake! Oh, we must go in haste.” Anne beamed at the girl in her arms, as everybody did. Jane and Anne had perfect manners, but their younger companion charmed everyone with her ungovernable antics.
Mrs. Bennet came down the stairs, leading Jane and Anne by the hand. The girls were all dressed in their Sunday finest, and Mrs. Bennet looked lovelier than ever. She greeted Anne warmly, and offered to take Elizabeth, but Anne moved a little away from her. “I will carry her into the church, if you like.”
