Page 21 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied neutrally. “Though connection alone seems an insufficient foundation for matrimony.”
“Oh, to be sure,” Lady Fitzsimmons agreed with a smile that suggested she considered this sentiment charming but na?ve.
“But connection combined with mutual advantage can certainly develop into affection over time. The marquess’s lineage and title would complement Miss de Bourgh’s fortune most advantageously. ”
Georgiana felt a chill at this clinical assessment, the way Lady Fitzsimmons reduced marriage to a mere transaction, with Anne’s happiness nowhere mentioned as a consideration.
Glancing again at her cousin, she saw that the marquess had moved closer, his tall figure seeming almost to loom over Anne’s slighter form as he continued to speak.
Though Georgiana could not hear his words, the intent behind them was clear enough from his expression and Anne’s increasingly rigid posture.
The marquess was outlining the advantages of their potential alliance, likely emphasising the benefits to Anne’s social position that would result from their union.
His manner suggested he considered these arguments irrefutable, his confidence that of a man who has never questioned his own desirability as a husband.
Anne, it appeared to Georgiana, was struggling to maintain the polite attention expected of a gentlewoman while clearly wishing to be anywhere else.
There was a trapped quality to her stillness now, like a small animal frozen in the shadow of a predator, afraid that any movement might provoke pursuit.
Georgiana glanced at Elizabeth, wondering if her sister had also noticed Anne’s distress, and found Elizabeth already watching marquess and Anne with evident concern. Before either of them could intervene, however, the situation was dramatically altered by the arrival of a new figure on the scene.
Lord Joseph Sturt appeared as if conjured by theatrical magic, his plum-coloured coat visible from a considerable distance as he strode energetically toward their group, his hat clutched in one hand and what appeared to be a small leather-bound notebook in the other.
His entrance was so perfectly timed and his appearance so striking that Georgiana half expected him to be accompanied by musical accompaniment, like an actor making his entrance in a Drury Lane production.
“Miss de Bourgh!” Lord Joseph’s voice rang out with theatrical projection, causing several nearby pedestrians to turn and stare. “How fortunate to find you here! I was just composing a verse inspired by these very gardens when I caught sight of your elegant figure.”
He bounded forward, resplendent in his purple coat, a leather-bound notebook clutched dramatically in one gloved hand. The marquess’s expression soured visibly at this interruption, but Lord Joseph appeared entirely oblivious to his displeasure as he offered Anne an extravagant bow.
“You simply must allow me to share my latest creation,” Lord Joseph continued without waiting for permission.
“It came to me in a burst of inspiration as I observed a particularly delicate rose surrounded by the gardener’s cruel pruning shears.
The symbolism struck me with such force that I was compelled to capture it immediately! ”
Anne’s expression shifted subtly, the rigid control giving way to what Georgiana realised with surprise was genuine relief at this interruption. “How kind of you to think of sharing your work, Lord Joseph,” she murmured. “I should be honoured to hear it.”
The marquess made a sound that in a less dignified gentleman might have been described as a snort. “Perhaps another time would be more appropriate,” he suggested coldly. “Miss de Bourgh and I were discussing matters of some importance.”
“Ah, but poetry waits for no man, my lord!” Lord Joseph declared with undiminished enthusiasm. He flipped open his notebook with a flourish and struck a pose that suggested he imagined himself upon a windswept cliff rather than a well-tended garden path in Hyde Park.
“Delicate rose amongst the thorns ensnared,
Thy petals tremble at the gardener’s blade!
While common blooms stand tall and unafraid,
Thy fragile beauty speaks of grace unspared!”
Georgiana pressed her lips together, torn between mortification at such a public display and a reluctant admiration for the perfect timing of Lord Joseph’s intervention.
The verse itself was predictably dreadful, but the genuine animation with which he delivered it, his entire being focused on Anne as though she were the only person in the vicinity, created an almost palpable barrier between her and the marquess.
“Sweet blossom, though by sharpened steel confined,
Thy essence pure no cutting can contain!
The thorny walls that cause thy heart such pain
Cannot subdue thy spirit unresigned!”
As Lord Joseph continued his recitation with increasingly dramatic gestures, Georgiana observed Elizabeth deftly extracting herself from her previous conversation and moving toward them with purposeful grace.
Her sister-in-law’s talent for reading social situations and intervening at precisely the right moment never failed to impress Georgiana.
“Ah, Lord Joseph,” Elizabeth greeted warmly as she joined their group, timing her arrival perfectly between the second and what appeared to be an impending third stanza.
“How delightful to find you entertaining our party with your verses. Anne, I believe Lady Fitzsimmons mentioned she wished to speak with you before we departed. If you would spare her a moment?”
It was masterfully done, Georgiana thought admiringly.
Elizabeth had created an opportunity for Anne to escape both the marquess’s mercenary attentions and Lord Joseph’s enthusiastic poetry, while offering no offence to either gentleman.
Anne seized the opportunity with alacrity, murmuring polite farewells before joining Elizabeth with barely disguised relief.
“Most inconsiderate,” the marquess muttered, just loudly enough for Georgiana to hear as he turned away. “Poetry in a public park, as though we were attending some provincial assembly rather than walking in the most fashionable spot in London.”
Lord Joseph, unbothered by the marquess’s departure, beamed at Georgiana. “Miss Darcy! Perhaps you might appreciate the concluding stanza of my composition? I have employed a particularly innovative rhyme scheme that I believe captures the poignant struggle of beauty confined by circumstance.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Georgiana replied gently, watching as Anne walked away with Elizabeth, her posture gradually relaxing with each step that took her further from the marquess. “I believe our party is preparing to depart.”
As she moved to join the others, Georgiana found herself reflecting on what she had observed.
The contrast between Anne’s rigid discomfort with the marquess and her visible relief at Lord Joseph’s interruption had been striking.
Despite the awkwardness of the poet’s effusions, there had been a genuine warmth in his attention to Anne that the marquess’s calculated courtship entirely lacked.
And despite the poor quality of his verse, Lord Joseph had, perhaps unwittingly, captured something true in his metaphor of the rose trapped among thorns.
Anne, raised in the confines of Rosings under Lady Catherine’s strict control, was indeed a bloom surrounded by constraints.
Watching her cousin now, walking beside Elizabeth with a tentative smile touching her usually solemn features, Georgiana wondered whether this London Season might provide Anne with an unexpected opportunity for growth beyond those confines.
It was a hopeful thought, and one that made Georgiana view her own social challenges with renewed perspective.