Page 71 of Intrigue and Inheritance (Crime and Consequences #3)

Anne watched her two companions with a curious tightness in her throat.

Three months ago, she had known neither young woman beyond the most cursory introduction.

Now, their presence felt as necessary as air, their genuine concern a balm to her wounded spirit.

“I shall write directly,” she promised. “Though I cannot imagine my letters will contain anything of interest. Rosings is exceedingly predictable in its routines.”

“Was predictable,” Kitty corrected, her expression unusually serious. “Now it shall be whatever you wish it to be.”

The simple truth of this observation struck Anne with unexpected force. Rosings, which had operated according to Lady Catherine’s immutable dictates for decades, now awaited her direction alone. The realisation was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I shall miss you both terribly,” Anne confessed, abandoning the pretence of practical arrangements. “These past months have been the most meaningful of my life. I hardly know how to express my gratitude for your friendship.”

Kitty’s face crumpled slightly, her natural vivacity giving way to genuine emotion.

“Oh, Anne,” she said, abandoning the half-folded handkerchief to cross the room and take Anne’s hands.

“It is we who should be grateful. You have been the most perfect addition to our circle. Who shall now appreciate my silly jokes or help me improve my watercolours?”

“You make me sound far more accomplished than I am,” Anne smiled, squeezing Kitty’s fingers.

“Nonsense,” Georgiana joined them, her quiet voice firm with conviction.

“You have a remarkable eye for composition. That sketch you made of the Hyde Park gardens was superior to anything I have produced, despite years of expensive instruction. And for all my musical training, you sing better than either of us; your voice has a natural sweetness neither Kitty nor I possess.”

Anne felt warmth bloom in her chest at this praise. All her life, her accomplishments had been dismissed as mediocre by Lady Catherine, her interests tolerated rather than encouraged. To be valued for her genuine abilities, however modest, was a novel experience.

“We must make plans for reunions,” Kitty declared, never one to dwell in melancholy when action might be taken. “Perhaps you might return to London for Christmas? Or we could visit Rosings in the spring when the gardens are at their finest?”

“I should like that very much,” Anne replied, genuinely moved by Kitty’s eagerness to maintain their connection. “Though I shall be in full mourning for some time, of course.”

Georgiana nodded solemnly. “We understand. But mourning need not mean isolation. Family visits are proper, and are we not cousins?”

The term “family” carried new weight for Anne now.

All her life, family had meant Lady Catherine, with her demands and disapproval, and occasionally the Darcys, viewed primarily as connections to be managed.

Now family meant Georgiana’s gentle understanding, Kitty’s irrepressible spirit, Elizabeth’s steady support, and Darcy’s quiet reliability.

It meant Lord and Lady Matlock travelling to Rosings to help her navigate her new responsibilities.

It meant Timothy Hislop, waiting patiently to make her his wife when proper mourning was concluded.

“You are unusually pensive,” Kitty observed, studying Anne’s face. “Are you worried about tomorrow’s journey?”

“Not worried, precisely,” Anne considered her feelings with the new honesty she had cultivated during her London stay. “Reflective, I suppose. When I arrived in London, I was... not the person I am now.”

“None of us remains unchanged by experience,” Georgiana said quietly. “Though perhaps your transformation has been more dramatic than most.”

Anne nodded, grateful for Georgiana’s perception. “When I first came to Darcy House, I was little more than an extension of my mother’s will. I had opinions, certainly, but rarely voiced them. I had interests, but pursued them only in secret. I existed rather than lived.”

“And now?” Kitty prompted, settling on the edge of the bed beside Anne.

“Now I find myself the mistress of Rosings, responsible for an estate I was never properly trained to manage,” Anne replied, a wry smile touching her lips. “And secretly engaged to a gentleman who breeds horses, of all things. Mother would be appalled.”

Her frankness startled a laugh from both Kitty and Georgiana. “Mr. Hislop is a fine man,” Georgiana asserted loyally. “Intelligent and honourable and genuinely devoted to you.”

“And handsome,” Kitty added with a mischievous smile. “Though perhaps not so fashionable as Lord Shandly.”

“Lord Shandly is a peacock,” Anne replied, surprising herself with her forthright assessment. “Charming, certainly, but his flamboyance would never suit me. Timothy sees beneath appearances. He values me for my mind and spirit, not merely as the mistress of Rosings.”

The use of Mr. Hislop’s Christian name did not escape her companions’ notice. Kitty’s eyes widened slightly, while Georgiana’s smile deepened with understanding.

“Your secret is safe with us,” Georgiana assured her. “Though I confess, I had suspected the depth of your attachment before today.”

“Was I so transparent?” Anne asked, momentarily alarmed.

“Only to those who know you well,” Kitty said, patting her hand. “The way your expression softened whenever he entered a room, how attentively you listened to his opinions on horsemanship... it was rather sweet, actually.”

Anne felt colour rise in her cheeks. “I never imagined myself experiencing such... feelings. Mother always spoke of marriage as an alliance of properties and families, not hearts.”

“Yet your parents’ marriage was arranged similarly, was it not?” Georgiana asked gently.

“Yes, though I believe there was genuine affection between them, at least initially,” Anne reflected. “Perhaps if he had lived longer, she might have been different.”

The three young women fell silent, each contemplating the ways in which circumstances shaped character, how loss and grief could harden or transform a person’s nature.

For the first time, Anne found herself able to view her mother with compassion rather than simply resentment or fear, understanding how Lady Catherine’s imperious nature might have developed as a shield against vulnerability.

“It grows late,” Georgiana observed eventually, glancing at the mantel clock. “And you have an early start tomorrow.”

Reality intruded upon their intimate conversation, bringing with it the imminent pain of separation. Kitty blinked rapidly, her natural exuberance momentarily dimmed. “I shall miss our evening discussions terribly,” she admitted. “No one at home understands my jokes half so well as you do, Anne.”

“I shall miss your laughter,” Anne replied honestly. “Rosings has always been a rather... sombre household. Perhaps that too might change, in time.”

The three embraced then, a tangle of arms and whispered assurances of continued correspondence and future visits.

When they finally separated, Anne found her eyes damp, but her heart curiously lightened.

This was not a permanent farewell but merely a temporary parting between dear friends who had formed connections that distance could not sever.

As Kitty and Georgiana reluctantly took their leave, promising to be present at her departure in the morning, Anne moved to the window.

London spread before her, a constellation of lights against the darkening sky.

Somewhere in that expanse was Timothy, perhaps thinking of her as she thought of him.

Elsewhere were the homes of people she had met during this transformative season, people who had seen her not as Lady Catherine’s sickly daughter but as a woman of substance and possibility.

When she had arrived in London, Anne had been a silent shadow at her mother’s side, a mere appendage to Lady Catherine’s formidable presence.

She departed now as the mistress of Rosings, a woman newly awakened to her own capabilities, with genuine friendships, a secret engagement, and a future of her own designing.

The price of this transformation had been terrible, purchased with Lord Joseph’s and her mother’s lives and Mrs. Jenkinson’s betrayal and death.

Yet from that darkness had emerged possibilities Anne had never dared imagine.

Tomorrow she would return to Rosings not as the timid daughter but as its mistress.

She would carry with her the strength she had discovered in London, the friendships she had formed, and the love she had found against all expectation.

The road ahead remained uncertain, shadowed by grief and challenge, but no longer dictated by others’ expectations.

For the first time in her one and twenty years, Anne de Bourgh would chart her own course through whatever storms might come.