Page 31 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Chapter Twelve

Anne de Bourgh had never been asked for her opinion on any matter of significance in her whole life before she came to stay at Darcy House.

At Rosings, her preferences had been either assumed or dismissed, her mother and Mrs. Jenkinson deciding everything from the appropriate thickness of her shawls to which meals might overtax her delicate constitution.

Yet here she sat at the Matlocks’ dinner table, finding herself engaged in actual discourse with Lord Joseph Sturt, who appeared genuinely interested in what she might think about something as unexpected as the medicinal properties of common garden herbs.

“But surely, Miss de Bourgh, you must agree that chamomile has been vastly overestimated by the common gardener,” Lord Joseph was saying, his enthusiastic expression a stark contrast to his surprisingly knowledgeable words.

“I find valerian far superior for encouraging restful sleep, though the scent is admittedly less pleasing.”

Anne blinked, momentarily disconcerted by this departure from his usual poetic effusions. “You are interested in herbal remedies, my lord? I would not have thought it aligned with your poetic pursuits.”

“Ah, but what is poetry if not an attempt to distil the essence of life, much as one might extract the beneficial properties of a plant?” He smiled warmly at her.

“My grandmother was quite renowned for her stillroom. I spent many childhood summers helping her gather and prepare her remedies. The rhythm of the pestle against mortar has its own poetry, does it not?”

“I suppose it does,” Anne replied, finding herself drawn into the unexpected conversation. “At Rosings, I maintained a small herb garden, though Mrs. Jenkinson frequently discouraged my interest, perhaps believing the soil would somehow contaminate me with rural afflictions.”

Lord Joseph’s laugh held genuine amusement rather than mockery. “Rural afflictions! What a fascinating concept. I can only imagine these would include such dreadful conditions as contentment, practical knowledge, and an appreciation for nature’s bounty.”

Anne felt a small smile forming, an increasingly common occurrence in Lord Joseph’s company. “You laugh, sir, but I assure you, in Mrs. Jenkinson’s medical lexicon, exposure to fresh air and sunshine rank just below poison in their potential for harm.”

“Then we must celebrate your remarkable survival of such terrible hazards,” he declared, his eyes twinkling with shared humour. “Tell me, which herbs did you favour in your forbidden garden?”

As Anne described her careful cultivation of lavender, rosemary, and the more delicate lemon balm, she became aware of a strange sensation in her chest, a lightness that felt almost like happiness.

Lord Joseph listened with seemingly genuine interest, asking pertinent questions about soil conditions and seasonal variations that revealed unexpected knowledge beneath his often ridiculous exterior.

From across the elegantly appointed table, Anne caught sight of the Marquess of Byerly watching their interaction, his expression calculating and cold.

The contrast between his distant assessment and Lord Joseph’s warm attention could not have been more pronounced.

The marquess’s interest in her was so transparently mercenary that even Anne, with her limited experience of suitors, could recognise its hollow nature.

He saw Rosings Park, not Anne de Bourgh, when he looked at her.

His attentions were precisely correct, yet utterly devoid of genuine curiosity about her as a person.

Lord Joseph, for all his poetic excesses and occasional social missteps, seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts and experiences.

His ridiculous verses, which she initially viewed as mere performance, had slowly revealed themselves as sincere if inept expressions of admiration.

There was something oddly touching about his complete commitment to these dreadful poems, delivered with such earnest enthusiasm that Anne found herself unable to be offended by their hyperbolic comparisons of her pale complexion to moonlight on snow.

“I have long believed,” Lord Joseph continued, blissfully unaware of her internal comparison, “that the traditional separation between garden flowers and medicinal herbs represents a fundamental misunderstanding of beauty. The less visually striking plants often harbour the most potent remedies, much as the most delicate appearances may conceal the strongest spirits.”

His gaze met hers directly, and Anne experienced the disconcerting sense that his apparently random observation contained a message specifically meant for her.

Before she could formulate a response, however, Lady Matlock signalled for the ladies to withdraw, leaving Anne to ponder Lord Joseph’s words as she rose from the table.

From across the room, Mrs. Jenkinson watched with barely concealed disapproval.

The companion had made her preference for the marquess abundantly clear, extolling the advantages of his title and lineage at every opportunity.

Anne could practically hear the familiar refrain: “Only think, Miss Anne, to be a marchioness! Your dear mother would be so pleased by such an elevation.”

The thought of her mother brought mixed emotions.

This London Season with Elizabeth and Darcy represented the first real freedom Anne had experienced in her adult life.

Away from Rosings and her mother’s domineering presence, Anne had discovered unexpected pleasures in simply being allowed to form her own opinions and express them without constant correction.

Living at Darcy House had been a revelation.

Elizabeth treated her not as an invalid to be managed but as a thinking woman worthy of respect.

Georgiana offered quiet companionship without demands, comfortable silences interspersed with genuine conversation.

Even Kitty Bennet, whom Anne had initially dismissed as frivolous, had shown surprising depth and consideration, never making Anne feel awkward about her social inexperience…

and Kitty was honestly fun to be around, making both Anne and Georgiana laugh regularly with her charm and good humour.

Anne had never known such lightness of spirit, such pleasure in life, as she was currently experiencing.

Every morning she got out of bed truly happy to be spending time with the other two young women, who she was coming to realise were the only two true friends she had ever had.

For the first time in her life, Anne felt herself beginning to emerge from the suffocating cocoon of protective care that had been wrapped around her since childhood.

Each small decision, from selecting her own breakfast foods to choosing which social engagements to attend, represented a tiny victory over the constraints that had defined her existence at Rosings.

As they moved from the dining room, Anne was surprised to find Lord Joseph waiting near the doorway, having apparently declined to join the gentlemen at their port.

“Miss de Bourgh,” he said, his usual exuberance tempered into something approaching proper decorum, “I took the liberty of asking Lady Matlock if I might show you those botanical prints before the music begins. They’re displayed in the library, if you would care to view them.”

Mrs. Jenkinson materialized at Anne’s elbow with alarming speed. “Miss Anne, I hardly think...”

“What a lovely idea,” Elizabeth interjected smoothly.

“Mrs. Jenkinson, Lady Matlock was just mentioning a new restorative tonic she acquired from her physician. Perhaps you might offer your expert opinion while Anne views the illustrations? The library door will remain open, of course, and I shall be just across the hallway arranging the music with Georgiana.”

Mrs. Jenkinson hesitated, clearly torn between monitoring Anne and the opportunity to display her medical knowledge to a countess. “Well, if the door remains open...”

As her companion was deftly led away, Anne found herself walking beside Lord Joseph into the library, where several large folios lay open on a table near the window.

“I feared we might be interrupted before I could properly ask about your knowledge of foxglove as a heart remedy,” he said, his voice holding none of its usual theatrical quality.

“I’ve found medical texts quite contradictory on the subject, and recalled you mentioning an interest in such specifics. ”

The simple acknowledgment that he had both remembered and valued her previous comments gave Anne a warm feeling in her chest. Here was someone who actually listened when she spoke, who considered her words worth recalling.

It was, she realised with a start, perhaps the most genuine form of respect she had ever been shown.

“I should be happy to share what I know,” Anne replied, surprised by the confidence in her own voice. “Though I warn you, my interest has occasionally led me into debates with physicians who consider female understanding of such matters improper.”

“Then they are fools,” Lord Joseph declared with unexpected vehemence. “And I am fortunate to have found myself in more enlightened company.”

As they bent together over the illustrated folios, Anne felt a strange sense of possibility unfurling within her, like a tightly closed bud finally detecting the warmth of spring sunshine.

Perhaps this season in London might offer more than simply a change of scenery from Rosings.

Perhaps it might, in fact, represent the beginning of a life she had never dared to imagine for herself.