He studied her over the rims of his spectacles, not entirely satisfied, but she trusted that in time, when he had occasion to reflect on the year past, the reason would make itself plain enough.
“Have you spoken with Jane? Would she and Morgan care to share the occasion?”
“You are the first to know, so I have not yet had the chance. But Jane and I have long spoken of a double wedding. If she and Mr. Morgan find the date and church agreeable, there is little left to arrange beyond booking the church, ordering the flowers, and allowing Mamma the great pleasure of planning the breakfast.”
“And the matter of your trousseau and gown.” He set his book aside entirely now, folding his hands. “Your mother will not be short of opinions there.”
“Aunt Madeline will keep things within reason. Mamma may have all the lace she likes, provided she leaves Jane’s gown and mine to us.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking at her in a way that made her feel, as she sometimes did, that he was committing her to memory.
“I wish you every success, my dear. You shall want it.”
“I have every faith in our arrangements.”
Meanwhile, back in Kent…
“Mr. and Mrs. Richard Fitzwilliam,” Rogers, the faithful butler of Rosings Park, announced in his familiar sonorous tone. The double doors swung open to reveal Richard and Anne, halted like statues on the threshold.
“What?” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “My nephew Richard has married? To whom?”
“To me, Mother.”
Anne, her gloved hand resting lightly on Richard’s forearm, advanced with serene composure. He led his wife to a small settee, situated a careful distance from her mother’s ‘throne’, then lowered his own large frame on the seat beside her. Not once did he relax, although he kept his mien cheerful, ever mindful of how rapidly his aunt’s anger could rise and eventually erupt. He likened Lady Catherine’s simmering rage to Mount Vesuvius, and did not want the two of them to be caught unaware of an impending explosion.
A maid in starched linen poured two cups of tea, placing them before Richard and his wife. Her voice trembled as she ventured to serve her mistress.
“Madam, shall I replenish your cup?”
“Be gone,” Lady Catherine snapped, waving her away with a single, impatient flick of her wrist. Her dark eyes narrowed to slits as she assessed her daughter and new husband. “I was given to understand you would marry Darcy.”
“You heard only what you wished to hear.”
“I distinctly recall you announcing your intention to marry him.”
“I announced I intended to marry my cousin,” Anne replied evenly, and a wave of pride flowed through Richard for his wife’s quiet courage. “You inferred it was Darcy because that was the match you desired.”
“You longed for that match yourself,” Lady Catherine snapped, nostrils flaring.
“Clearly, I did not, as I married Richard.”
“Obstinate, headstrong child!” With a sudden cry, Lady Catherine rose, her face contorted. “I shall have this farce of a marriage annulled immediately! You will marry Darcy and be done with it!”
“You shall do no such thing,” Anne replied, her voice steady as a millpond despite her mother’s histrionics. “Richard and I are both of age, we exchanged our vows in earnest, and...” She paused, meeting her mother’s gaze directly. “Perhaps you would be better seated, Mother, before I continue... I am increasing.”
Lady Catherine’s complexion blanched to alabaster before she crumpled unceremoniously to the carpet.
“Good heavens!” Richard exclaimed, rushing to attend his aunt. He dropped to one knee, hovering anxiously as he studied her slack features. Anne observed from her perch on the settee, unruffled.
“Does she draw breath?” Years of witnessing similar dramatic performances had rendered Anne quite immune. She gestured to the vacant cushion beside her. “Join me, dearest. She will recover her senses presently.”
“Anne!” Richard’s voice carried equal measures of shock and concern. “Your mother lies insensible! Have you no feelings on the matter?”
“None whatsoever. She will come around as soon as you leave her side.” Anne leaned sideways, peering past her husband’s shoulders. “Mother, your tea grows tepid. You know how much you detest lukewarm brews.”
“Wretched, thankless girl,” Lady Catherine muttered, struggling to right herself. Her imperious glare fixed on Richard. “Are you simply going to gawk, you simpleton? Assist me at once!”
Richard rose without hesitation, slipping one arm beneath his aunt’s elbow, and helped her back to the chair from which she had shot like a cannon upon hearing that her greatest desire of uniting the two great estates of Rosings and Pemberley had been foiled. He dared to look at his demure wife, noting that when she lowered her cup, a small, contented smile unfolded. He stifled a soft chuckle, knowing that he alone was witness to her quiet triumph.
