Page 76

“What is he doing here?” Lady Catherine demanded angrily, her beady brown orbs fixed on Mr. Collins.

The man was staring proudly down at a bowl in his hands, and when he looked up at the ladies and gentlemen stepping into Darcy’s office, his eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy, please do look upon these.”

Miss de Bourgh, who had been eyeing her mother uneasily, shifted her glance to the bowl, her expression confused.

“What are they, Mr. Collins?”

“Sugar lumps!” the man responded with starry eyed delight. “Are they not marvelous?”

Anne frowned down at the bowl, “They look like circles.”

“Spheres, Miss de Bourgh, spheres! It took a tremendous amount of work but I have at last succeeded. They are so delightfully uniform, are they not?”

“They are wonderful,” Charlotte Collins interposed hastily, stepping in from the hall. She had been delayed giving instructions to the nursemaid regarding her children, and now she hurried to her husband’s side and smiled at him brightly. “I am certain, Mr. Collins, that our guests will enjoy your sugar lumps in their tea. But I believe there is another matter of import to discuss?”

“Of course, my dear, of course!” Collins responded. “I do apologize. I have worked so hard on my sugar lumps, you see, but we must speak of Sir Lewis’s will.”

Catherine de Bourgh turned an indignant gaze on her nephew, “Darcy, what is this? You said we needed to speak of Anne’s inheritance of Rosings in a little less than two years. Why would that imbecile of a rector be here during a family discussion? And who is this ... this Goliath?”

Darcy’s lips tightened as he gestured at the tall red-headed man who had risen to his feet when Mr. Darcy and the ladies had entered the room, “This is Mr. Alexander Martyn, the younger brother of my sister Mary’s husband, Mr. Edward Martyn. Mr. Martyn is a solicitor, and he has occasionally assisted me with estate matters since my London solicitors are so far away.”

Anne de Bourgh stared up at Mr. Martyn’s face in astonishment. She could see the resemblance to Mr. Edward Martyn, Mary’s husband, in that both men had bright hair and blue eyes, and both were tall. But whereas Mary’s husband was thin, this man was huge! Not fat, no, not at all, but broad and muscular. He looked like he could pick up a horse in one hand and a marble boulder in the other!

“I suppose a solicitor might be of use,” Lady Catherine commented with a disdainful sniff, “though it seems unlikely that a man who works in Lambton will be intelligent enough to be of assistance. But why is Mr. Collins here?”

Anne pulled herself together to answer this insolent inquiry, “He is here, Mother, because Mr. Collins is the one who realized that my father’s supposed codicil, the one which delayed my inheritance of Rosings from five and twenty to thirty years of age, is a forgery, Mother.”

Lady Catherine’s already protuberant eyes bugged out even more, “A forgery! Nonsense! Absolute nonsense!”

“There is no doubt, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Martyn responded in a calm, deep voice, placing one beefy forefinger on the codicil. “At Miss de Bourgh’s request, I inspected this document with care and as Mr. Collins realized, the signature is, without a shadow of a doubt, a forgery. More obvious still is the reference to the Prince Regent, which is inappropriate if the document had in fact been written in eighteen hundred and seven.”

Lady Catherine stared at the solicitor in bewilderment, “What foolishness is this? What about the Prince Regent?”

“Mother, the codicil references the Prince Regent,” Anne said impatiently. “My father died in eighteen hundred and eight and the Regency did not begin until eighteen hundred and eleven. Obviously, this codicil was not signed by my father, and was written long after he passed on to his reward!”

Catherine de Bourgh stared at her daughter, her mouth working soundlessly, before marching over to the document in question. She bent over the paper, squinting furiously, read it, and then straightened to her full height, her face taking on the hue of an early plum.

“That fool!” she screeched.

“What fool?” Darcy demanded.

“Mr. Wimmering, my solicitor! To make such a mistake is unconscionable!”

The assembled individuals stared at her with a mixture of anger and incredulity.

“So you admit it, Mother? You admit that you ordered him to forge the codicil?”

“Of course I did!” the lady responded, turning to her nephew, “Come, Darcy, you must see that Anne was not ready to take control of Rosings when she was five and twenty. Indeed, she is not ready now, nor do I expect her to be ready in two years. After you betrayed us all by marrying the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet, there was really nothing else to be done! Rosings must have a competent mistress!”

Anne de Bourgh stepped forward, her usually pale face flushed, her body shaking in rage, “How dare you, Mother? To falsify a document? To deny me my birthright? How dare you?”

“I am your mother, that is how I dare! I did it for you, Anne! You are too sickly to have such a burden on you. Now if Darcy had married you as was always intended, all would have been well. But no, he had to marry that hussy ...”

“Lady Catherine!” Darcy bellowed loudly enough that the elder woman’s words died in her throat. Her daughter’s anger she discounted easily enough, but Darcy looked so forbidding that Catherine de Bourgh felt a clutch of unease in her imperious bosom.

“You will not say another word about my wife,” Darcy continued, his nostrils flaring. “I promise you that I will not hesitate to hurl you from Pemberley if you insult Elizabeth, is that entirely clear?”

Catherine opened her mouth hastily, revealing slightly yellowed teeth, before closing her lips with a snap. The look on Darcy’s face ...

“If I may say so, Miss de Bourgh,” Mr. Collins stated calmly, “your mother really ought not to live at Rosings at all. She obviously has no respect for your authority and will doubtless undermine your decisions with enthusiasm and determination.”

“You will be silent, Mr. Collins,” the woman hissed angrily. “You are a mere clergyman and should not even be here, much less dare to speak about your betters ...”

“Nonsense, Mother,” Anne interrupted impatiently. “Mr. Collins is entirely right. Mr. Martyn, am I legally permitted to exclude Lady Catherine from Rosings?”

“Legally, yes,” the man declared, his gaze fixed on the will of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. “Since the codicil is set aside as a forgery, your father’s last will and testament stipulates that Lady Catherine has the right to the Dower House at Rosings, but no right to live in the mansion itself once you take control of the estate.”

Lady Catherine shrieked in outrage at these words, causing Anne to quail.

“Anne, will you trust me and Mr. Martyn to manage this business with your mother?” Darcy inquired loudly over the sounds of his aunt’s screeching.

“Of course!” Anne returned, departing the office with alacrity. Once she had attained the corridor, she leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Her mother’s tantrums were epic, and in spite of herself, she felt quite overwhelmed.

“My dear Anne!” a new voice cried out, causing Anne to open her eyes. Elizabeth Darcy was approaching with her baby son in her arms, and the mistress of Rosings smiled brightly. “Come, join me in the east parlor for tea. Come along, Mr. Collins, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Martyn can speak further with Lady Catherine.”

Anne thankfully followed her hostess until her mother’s strident voice faded entirely away. Once they had entered the parlor, she sank wearily onto a couch, her mind swirling with dismay and exhaustion. Her mother’s will was so strong. How could Anne stand up to her over the course of days and weeks and months and years?

A minute later, Charlotte Collins sat down next to her and handed her a cup of tea, “You like two lumps, I believe, Miss de Bourgh?”

“Yes, thank you,” Anne replied, carefully stirring her tea with the provided spoon. She managed a wavering smile as she addressed Mr. Collins, “The sugar spheres are wonderful, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss de Bourgh,” Collins replied warmly. “Yes, they are splendid, if I do say so myself. Might I make a suggestion?”

“Yes?”

“I suggest you hire Mr. Alexander Martyn to be your permanent solicitor at Rosings.”

Anne sat up in surprise, her brow creased in bewilderment, “A permanent solicitor? Do I need a permanent solicitor along with a steward?”

The clergyman snorted inelegantly, “The current steward of Rosings, Mr. Ayles, should be discharged as soon as possible. He has spent decades groveling before Lady Catherine. I had a few interactions with him before my Change, and we were united in our inability to think an original thought when in your mother’s presence. You will need a new steward, and Mr. Darcy can advise you on a sensible man for the job. But there will be significant legal issues involved in the transfer of power from Lady Catherine to you, and Mr. Martyn is not only intelligent and skilled, he is also huge.”

Anne blinked, “He is huge, I agree, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“He can throw people out of Rosings if you like, and intimidate anyone who seeks to bother you.”

Anne laughed uneasily, “You make him sound like something of a thug.”

“He was an amateur boxer of some renown in London for a few years,” Mr. Collins explained cheerfully. “He is a loyal son of the church and a godly man, I assure you, but entirely capable of intimidating recalcitrant individuals as appropriate.”

Anne considered this thoughtfully. There would be many servants and tenants who would struggle to accept her authority; perhaps having a giant of a solicitor on hand would be advantageous.

“Would Mr. Martyn be interested in moving to Rosings?” she inquired curiously. “I would think he would wish to stay near his brother and family.”

“He did move to Lambton some eighteen months ago for precisely that reason,” Charlotte Collins explained, “but in actual fact, he is having a hard time of it financially as there are already two other well established solicitors in the region. Tragically, he lost his wife in childbirth and has a little girl who is not quite two years of age. I have spoken to Mary on the matter and I know Mr. Alexander Martyn is considering a move to greener monetary pastures.”

Anne gazed thoughtfully into her tea cup and smiled to herself. She had seen the look of awe in her mother’s eyes when Mr. Martyn had risen to his full height.

“I think, Mr. Collins, that you have made a splendid suggestion! Thank you!”