Page 33 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

“Lord Byerly,” Anne replied, careful to keep her voice neutral. “I trust you are enjoying the musical performances.”

“Indeed, though I find them somewhat frivolous compared to matters of genuine substance.” He positioned himself so that Anne could not easily move past him without appearing rude.

“I have been giving considerable thought to your situation, Miss de Bourgh. Your delicate position requires careful management.”

Anne felt a familiar tightness in her chest that once would have been attributed to her weak constitution but which she now recognised as simple discomfort. “My situation, my lord?”

“A young lady of your standing, with such significant responsibilities awaiting you at Rosings.” His voice lowered confidentially.

“The management of such an estate is not for the faint-hearted. One requires both the proper rank and experience to command the necessary respect from tenants and neighbours alike.”

The implication was clear enough, and not for the first time.

The marquess viewed her primarily as the vehicle through which Rosings Park might be acquired, her person a mere inconvenience attached to the property.

Anne had observed enough of Mr. Darcy’s and Lord Matlock’s management of their estates and staff to recognise the falsehood in the marquess’s assessment.

Respect was earned through fair treatment and consistent principles, not through title alone.

“Rosings has been adequately managed for generations,” Anne responded. “My father established excellent practices that my mother has maintained.”

“Maintained, yes, but not improved,” the marquess countered smoothly. “A feminine approach to estate management is naturally more conservative. With proper masculine guidance, Rosings could become a model of modern agricultural innovation.”

Before Anne could formulate a response that balanced politeness with her growing displeasure, Mrs. Jenkinson materialised at her side with alarming promptness, as though summoned by some silent signal.

“My lord,” Mrs. Jenkinson greeted him with obvious approval. “How kind of you to keep Miss de Bourgh company. She should not overtax herself with too much movement about the room.”

“I am perfectly well, Mrs. Jenkinson,” Anne replied, though neither her companion nor the marquess appeared to register her words.

“The marquess has a great interest in agricultural improvements at Rosings,” Mrs. Jenkinson continued, addressing the marquess rather than Anne.

“Such vision is precisely what Lady Catherine has always hoped to secure for the estate’s future.

A title of appropriate significance combined with forward-thinking management. ”

Anne felt a surge of frustration at this transparent collusion.

Mrs. Jenkinson had apparently appointed herself the marquess’s advocate, presumably believing she acted in Anne’s best interests.

The realisation that her companion likely reported every detail of their London activities to Lady Catherine was not a new one, but it stung nonetheless.

Mrs. Jenkinson’s loyalty had always been to Lady Catherine rather than to Anne herself, a fact that had become increasingly clear since their arrival in London, and suddenly it rankled.

Mrs. Jenkinson worked for Anne . The money that paid her salary was Anne’s money.

Was loyalty and discretion too much to expect in return?

“I was explaining to Miss de Bourgh,” the marquess continued, clearly encouraged by Mrs. Jenkinson’s support, “that the southern fields at Rosings would benefit tremendously from the drainage techniques I have studied. The increased yield would more than compensate for the initial investment.”

Anne blinked in surprise. How did he know such specific details about Rosings’ agricultural challenges?

The southern fields had indeed suffered from poor drainage during particularly wet seasons, but this was hardly common knowledge.

Her surprise must have shown in her expression, for the marquess smiled with evident satisfaction.

“I have made it my business to understand Rosings thoroughly,” he explained, misinterpreting her reaction as impressed rather than discomforted. “A prudent man studies what he intends to acquire, does he not?”

The baldness of the statement, delivered with such casual confidence, rendered Anne momentarily speechless. There was no pretence of romantic attachment, no effort to disguise his mercenary intentions. He spoke as though their marriage were already arranged, merely awaiting formal confirmation.

“The marquess has been most thorough in his research,” Mrs. Jenkinson enthused, apparently oblivious to Anne’s growing distress. “He has corresponded with Lady Catherine regarding several aspects of estate management. Your mother is most impressed with his understanding and vision.”

So her mother was already in communication with the marquess, discussing Rosings as though its transfer to his control were a foregone conclusion.

Anne felt a flush of genuine anger warming her cheeks.

Neither her mother nor the marquess appeared to consider her consent necessary to their arrangements, treating her as a minor impediment to their plans rather than the actual heiress whose opinion should matter most.

“I have additional plans for the east wing renovations,” the marquess continued, his tone suggesting he was conferring a great favour by sharing these thoughts.

“The current arrangement of rooms is hopelessly outdated. With proper redesign, Rosings could host gatherings worthy of its position in the county.”

Anne’s childhood bedroom was in the east wing, as was the small sitting room that had been her private retreat from her mother’s constant scrutiny.

The thought of these personal spaces being casually redesigned without her input crystallised her growing resentment into something sharper and more defined.

“How fascinating,” she managed to say, her voice surprisingly steady. “But I believe my cousin is signalling to me. If you would excuse me, my lord, Mrs. Jenkinson.”

It was a fabrication, but Anne caught Elizabeth’s eye across the room, and her cousin immediately seemed to understand her predicament. With perfect timing, Elizabeth approached, her expression warm but determined.

“Anne, there you are,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “Lady Matlock was just asking if you might share your thoughts on the new conservatory design. Your knowledge of exotic plants would be most helpful.”

“Of course,” Anne replied, grateful for the rescue. “My lord, Mrs. Jenkinson, if you would excuse me.”

The marquess bowed slightly, his expression betraying a flash of irritation before smoothing into polite acquiescence. “We shall continue our discussion another time, Miss de Bourgh. I have many more suggestions for improvements to share with you.”

As Elizabeth guided her away, Anne felt the weight of Mrs. Jenkinson’s disapproving gaze following them.

The brief respite would not last, she knew.

The pressures would continue, from both the marquess and her companion, likely reinforced by letters from her mother once Mrs. Jenkinson reported on this evening’s events.

“Thank you,” Anne murmured to Elizabeth as they moved toward where Lady Matlock stood near the conservatory doors.

“I recognised that particular expression,” Elizabeth replied quietly. “It has not escaped my notice that the marquess speaks to you as though Rosings were already his to manage.”

“And Mrs. Jenkinson encourages him at every turn,” Anne added, her voice barely audible.

Elizabeth’s hand pressed gently against her arm. “Remember that you have allies here, Anne. Your future is your own to determine, whatever your mother or Mrs. Jenkinson might wish to arrange on your behalf.”

The simple reassurance steadied Anne more than Elizabeth could know.

For all the marquess’s cold calculations and Mrs. Jenkinson’s persistent pressure, Anne was no longer the isolated, sheltered girl she had been at Rosings.

Here in London, she had discovered not only new freedoms but also genuine allies who valued her as a person rather than a convenient pathway to property and position.

As Lord Joseph appeared at the edge of the gathering, his expression brightening upon seeing her, Anne allowed herself a small, private smile.

The path forward might not be entirely clear, but for perhaps the first time in her life, she was beginning to believe she might have the courage to choose it for herself.