Page 47 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

“Hislop? I do not know the name at all. I doubt the family is in Debrett’s,” Mrs. Jenkinson replied tartly, her hand already on Anne’s elbow to guide her away. “Come, Miss Anne. I think we have had enough fresh air for today. Your colour is becoming too high.”

Elizabeth noticed how Mrs. Jenkinson instinctively reached for her ever-present vial of smelling salts, despite Anne showing no signs of distress beyond the fading of her brief animation.

The companion’s constant vigilance for symptoms, her readiness to interpret any sign of vitality as potential illness, struck Elizabeth anew as profoundly stifling.

“I believe we might all benefit from returning to Darcy House,” Elizabeth suggested, unwilling to allow Mrs. Jenkinson to separate Anne from their party. “We have been walking for nearly an hour.”

As they began walking toward the park’s entrance, Elizabeth deliberately positioned herself beside Anne, with Kitty and Georgiana following closely behind and Mrs. Jenkinson forced to adjust her pace to theirs rather than hurrying Anne along as she clearly wished to do.

“The stallion truly was magnificent,” Elizabeth remarked conversationally. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about horses, Anne.”

Something in her gentle inquiry seemed to reignite a spark of Anne’s earlier enthusiasm.

“My father loved fine horseflesh,” she replied, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.

“He believed riding was essential for good health and taught me himself, beginning when I was just a baby… I have been riding since before I could walk.”

This revelation surprised Elizabeth considerably.

The Anne she had come to know at Rosings had always been presented as too delicate for physical exertion of any kind, perpetually wrapped in shawls and monitored for the slightest sign of overexertion.

The image of a young Anne on horseback seemed utterly at odds with Lady Catherine’s constant portrayal of her daughter’s fragility.

“You must have been an excellent horsewoman,” Elizabeth encouraged, noting how Anne’s posture straightened as she spoke of her father.

“Father insisted on proper technique,” Anne continued, a hint of pride entering her tone.

“He had trained in Vienna as a young man and was quite particular about classical form. By the time I was twelve, I could ride our gentlest mare in balanced collection and was learning the principles of lateral movement.”

Mrs. Jenkinson made a small sound of disapproval but did not interrupt directly.

Elizabeth observed the companion’s tightened lips and narrowed eyes with interest, recognizing that Anne’s reminiscences clearly contradicted the narrative of lifelong invalidism that Mrs. Jenkinson had helped maintain.

“I had no idea,” Georgiana said softly from behind them. “Did you enjoy it very much?”

“It was freedom,” Anne replied simply, and something in the way she said those three words caused Elizabeth’s heart to contract with understanding.

For a young girl increasingly defined by supposed limitations and restrictions, those drives and rides must indeed have represented a precious taste of independence.

“He also taught me to drive a phaeton,” Anne added, her voice warming further with the memory.

“It was a beautiful vehicle, built to his exact specifications with a lower step and modified controls that made it easier for me to manage. We would drive around the estate together, and sometimes along the country roads near Rosings. But when Father died, my mother sold most of the horses. She said they were an unnecessary expense and that my health would not permit riding in any case.”

“But you were not truly too unwell to ride?” Elizabeth asked gently, though she already knew the answer.

Anne hesitated, glancing briefly at Mrs. Jenkinson, who had drawn close enough to hear their conversation despite her efforts to appear disinterested.

“I had always been somewhat delicate,” she said carefully.

“But the regular exercise seemed to strengthen rather than weaken me. After we stopped the riding, I found my endurance decreasing rather than improving.”

“Miss Anne suffered from severe dizzy spells,” Mrs. Jenkinson interjected, unable to remain silent any longer. “Lady Catherine was quite correctly concerned for her safety. A fall from horseback could have been fatal for someone of her constitution.”

“I never actually fell,” Anne said quietly, with a directness that surprised Elizabeth. “Not once in all those years of riding, even when Father taught me to jump.”

The simple statement hung in the air between them, neither directly contradicting Mrs. Jenkinson nor accepting her assessment.

Elizabeth felt a surge of admiration for Anne’s subtle but unmistakable assertion of her own experience against the narrative that had been constructed around her presumed frailty.

As they approached the gates of Regent’s Park, Anne’s gaze followed a gentleman cantering past on a fine bay hunter. The wistfulness in her expression spoke volumes about what had been taken from her, not by genuine illness but by the perception of illness that had been imposed upon her life.

“My brother keeps several excellent saddle horses,” Georgiana volunteered unexpectedly. “I quite enjoy a ride myself.”

“And my sister Jane rides nearly every day at Netherfield,” Kitty added. “Sir Richard bought her the most beautiful mare as a wedding gift, I was quite envious. I rode out with her several times on our old Nellie, but struggled to keep up!”

Elizabeth recognised their efforts to support Anne and felt a rush of affection for both young women.

“Indeed,” she agreed, her decision already made.

“I shall speak to Darcy about arranging suitable mounts for all three of you. The weather is perfect for morning rides, and the exercise would do everyone good.”

“Mrs. Darcy!” Mrs. Jenkinson protested, her thin face flushing with alarm. “I hardly think Lady Catherine would approve of Miss Anne engaging in such strenuous activity. Her health is far too delicate.”

“On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied firmly, “I believe Lady Catherine would wish her daughter to benefit from healthful exercise, particularly an activity in which she has prior experience and evident skill. We shall, of course, begin with gentle rides and ensure proper supervision.”

She turned to Anne, whose expression had brightened noticeably at the suggestion. “Would that be agreeable to you?”

“Very much so,” Anne replied, a genuine smile transforming her features. It was the first real smile Elizabeth had seen from her since Lord Joseph’s death, lighting her eyes and softening the habitual reserve of her countenance. “I should like that above all things.”

As they continued toward Darcy House, Elizabeth observed the new lightness in Anne’s step, the subtle straightening of her posture as though she were already anticipating the return to an activity she had loved.

The passion for horses that Anne had revealed today offered not just a welcome distraction from grief but a connection to the happier days of her childhood, to the father who had encouraged her capabilities rather than focussing on her limitations.

In her mind, Elizabeth was already composing the conversation she would have with Darcy, knowing he would understand immediately the importance of this opportunity.

For Anne, riding might represent more than mere exercise; it could be a reclaiming of self, a return to a time when she had been defined by her abilities rather than her supposed weaknesses.

It would also be an opportunity for Anne to have more freedom from Mrs. Jenkinson’s stifling presence, as Elizabeth had no intention of providing a mount for the companion or making a carriage available for her use when the young ladies rode.

And perhaps, Elizabeth thought as they turned onto their street, this newfound animation might also help heal the wound left by Lord Joseph’s tragic death.

For in discovering joy in something from her past, Anne might find the strength to imagine a future containing other pleasures, other connections, other reasons to smile.