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Page 29 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)

Brahe Mansion

Stockholm, Sweden

Count Brahe, elder statesman of his family, leaned back in his chair and allowed the passionate voices to swirl around him.

“To move openly against France is insanity! If Napoleon invades Sweden ...”

“Napoleon has already invaded Sweden! The French invasion of Swedish Pomerania is an open act of war!”

“Count Brahe, you have spoken recently to the Crown Prince; do you know his view on this matter?”

The Count took a slow sip of wine and then leaned forward to gaze upon the crowd of hungry faces around him. “I have, only yesterday. He is, I believe, prepared to move against his former Emperor.”

The count’s nephew and heir, Lucas Falk, frowned doubtfully at this.

“I find that most unlikely, sir. The Crown Prince served faithfully under Napoleon for many years. The Crown Princess Desideria resides in Paris. That alone is enough to keep the former Marshall Bernadotte from moving openly against his former master. What would Sweden do if the Crown Princess was made a hostage?”

“Nonsense,” another distant cousin proclaimed. “Princess Desideria is sister to the wife of Napoleon’s brother, and the Emperor was once engaged to the Princess. He will not harm her!”

“I still say it would be insanity to openly side with France’s enemies,” Falk argued.

Count Brahe eyed his nephew with disdain.

The boy – well, he was no longer a boy, but a middle aged man – had always been a coward.

Since France had failed to deliver Brahe his English tulips, the Count considered himself entirely free to throw his considerable political weight wherever he wished.

He was an old man and tired, but even he felt a vague stirring of outrage at Napoleon’s invasion of a Swedish holding. Besides ...

“I believe we must ally ourselves with France’s enemies,” the old man declared, “else we may find Stockholm under the French flag ere long. Napoleon desires to take every land within two thousand miles of Paris.”

Inwardly, he mourned the loss of his precious tulips. Well, perhaps he would live long enough to see Napoleon fall and the war end, whereupon he might be able to purchase tulips legally from Britain.

/

March 15th, 1812

“I believe we will be at Darcy House in less than two hours, Georgiana,” Darcy commented, gazing out at the familiar sights of the Northern London road.

“I am thankful,” Georgiana said with a deep sigh, leaning into him a little.

“I am tired.” Georgiana, Mrs. Younge, Darcy, and Georgiana’s new companion, Mrs. Annesley, had been traveling from Pemberley for several days, and all were entirely fatigued with their trek.

At least the journey south had brought warmer temperatures and budding trees and flowers.

In Derbyshire, winter had not yet loosened her grip.

Darcy smiled reassuringly at his sister and curled an affectionate arm around her, drawing her closer still. “Feel free to sleep, my dear, if you wish.”

Georgiana leaned her blonde head against his chest and a few minutes later, her soft breathing showed that she had taken his advice to heart. Mrs. Younge and Mrs. Annesley, who had been chatting amiably, fell silent in order to let their charge sleep.

Darcy smiled gratefully at them both, not only for their courtesy at this moment, but for their kindness toward his young sister.

Mrs. Younge had unexpectedly been delayed in her return to the service of the Crown, and thus had assisted in welcoming Georgiana’s new companion, Mrs. Annesley, a comfortable widow of some forty summers.

Georgiana had few people in her life whom she loved and she cherished Mrs. Younge; thus, she was saddened that her friend was leaving her.

Fortunately, she liked her new companion very much.

Mrs. Annesley was well bred and cheerful, and she also enjoyed music and acting.

Darcy was delighted that Georgie had experienced such a pleasant winter with her old companion and her new.

Darcy himself had found the last months quite difficult due to an unexpected development. He had been confident that his attraction to Miss Elizabeth Bennet would fade quickly once he left her intoxicating presence. That had turned out to be as far from the truth as it possibly could be.

Her very ghost seemed to haunt Pemberley; he would be walking down the long, elegant corridors and hear her musical laugh; he would see movement out of the corner of his eye, and turn expecting to see her.

His interest – no, his attachment – no, call it what it was – his adoration, was growing the longer he was away from her.

To some degree, his love was stoked by Miss Bennet’s frequent letters to Georgiana. Georgie often read sections aloud to him, and the lady’s bright vivacity and ebullience seemed to spill from every page.

The question, of course, was what Darcy was to do about his love. Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, and Miss Lydia were even now in London, with the two older unmarried girls preparing for their coming out during the Season. He could attend balls with her, dance with her, court her.

He could marry her and bring her home to Pemberley, and they could have children together.

She was so bright and intelligent and good-hearted that she would shine as mistress to a great estate.

She would care for Georgiana like a sister, and would help him watch over the servants and tenants, the blacksmiths and shopkeepers whose very livelihood depended on Pemberley.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

His heart pulled him toward Elizabeth, and even his mind, but there was the great problem of Anne de Bourgh.

His ‘engagement’ to his cousin was not formalized, but most of the family expected that he would make a match with the heiress of Rosings.

Anne had never enjoyed good health; that, and her great wealth, made her a target for fortune hunters.

He did not love Anne romantically in the least, but he cared for her and wanted the best for her, and the best for Rosings.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh currently oversaw the imposing estate with little compassion but reasonable competence.

If Anne married a fortune hunter, or a high ranking spendthrift, or was single when her mother passed on, what would happen to Rosings and her people?

Was it right for him to cast family and estate obligations away in favor of Elizabeth Bennet?

He found himself praying silently but passionately.

“Lord God Almighty, please show me Your will for my life. I wish to court and marry Miss Bennet, but I will ... I will marry Anne if that is Your plan for me. Please make it entirely clear what Your purpose is for my life. In your Son’s Name, Amen. ”

/

Darcy House

London

“Mrs. Younge, before you depart for Army Headquarters, I wish to thank you again for your kindness to and protection of Georgiana these last months.”

“I have enjoyed my time with Miss Darcy very much,” the lady replied. “It was a pleasantly relaxing interlude in my life, and I feel fully recovered from my injuries.”

“Relaxing except for the matter of the tulips,” Darcy suggested.

Mrs. Younge chuckled in amusement. “Compared to some of my other missions, that was but a lovely diversion.”

“It was not so for me,” Darcy responded softly, his expression suddenly grim.

Mrs. Younge hesitated briefly and then impulsively reached forward to touch her former employer on the arm.

“I have not felt as if it was my place to talk about … about the shooting, but perhaps that was cowardice on my part. I had hoped that you would embrace that, as regrettable as it was to take a life, it was entirely necessary. You saved Mr. Wickham, and we must be grateful for that.”

Darcy swallowed thickly and nodded, struggling to maintain his equanimity. “In my mind, I know it was quite necessary, but I often relive the way his body quivered under the impact of my shot, the blood …”

“I do understand, Mr. Darcy. In truth, it is the sign of a healthy mind to grieve when you are forced to kill. I have killed three times, and while the emotional impact has faded with time and experience, I still regret the harsh necessity.”

“I believe it does help me understand my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, better,” Darcy murmured.“I shot one man in a barn in England. He faced down the French army, saw his own men die, smelled the carnage of war, was wounded, captured, and escaped.”

“Such things go hard on the hearts and minds of men ... and women.”

“Yes. I honor you for your service and sacrifice, Madam, and wish you the very best.”

“Thank you, and I hope we will cross paths …”

“Darcy!” shrieked a sudden voice from the hall, causing Darcy and Mrs. Younge to turn in astonishment.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy! Nephew, I demand to speak to you at once, at once do you hear?”

“Mrs. Younge,” Darcy said hastily, “I suggest you leave out the servant’s entrance of this room. That is my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and she sounds exceptionally perturbed. I doubt you wish to encounter her.”

“Thank you, I will,” Mrs. Younge returned, gliding rapidly to the side door which led to a servant’s corridor.

Darcy took a step toward the door just as it flew open to reveal the majestic form of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, mistress of Rosings in Kent, patroness of William Collins, and mother to Anne de Bourgh.

The lady was dressed elaborately in velvet puce and her plump face was roughly the color of a pomegranate. Behind her, Darcy’s butler declared, with pinched lips, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sir.”

“Thank you, Nelson. Would you arrange for tea? Aunt, will you not sit down and tell me what is the matter?”

“Sit down? I will most definitely not sit down. Are you responsible for this … this travesty, this absolute outrage? Where is she? I demand you tell me, Darcy, where is Anne?”

Darcy stared in confusion and growing alarm. “Where is Anne? What do you mean, Aunt? Is Anne missing?”

The lady peered up into his face, her eyes bugging slightly, her teeth bared. “Darcy, my character has long been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and I beg that you will not prevaricate or conceal anything regarding this matter. Do you know where they are?”

“Aunt, I know nothing at all of what you are referring to! Georgiana and I returned from Pemberley only yesterday. Indeed, I am astonished to see you here in London when I thought you and Anne were fixed at Rosings for many months!”

“Look at this!” the lady cried out, pulling a folded paper from her reticule and holding it out. “Look!”

Bewildered, Darcy took the paper and unfolded it, revealing the familiar writing of his cousin, Anne de Bourgh.

“Read it!” his aunt ordered.

Dear Mother,

I have decided to marry Mr. Evan Fitzroy. Mrs. Jenkinson has accompanied me for propriety’s sake. Do not bother to attempt to stop me. I will send you word when I find it convenient.

Sincerely, Miss Anne de Bourgh, soon to be Mrs. Anne Fitzroy

Darcy read it once, twice, thrice, and then looked over at his aunt, his own face pale with dismay.

“Lady Catherine, I promise you I know nothing at all of this matter. Who is this Fitzroy?”

Inwardly, his heart quailed. Had his frail cousin fallen into the honeyed trap of a fortune hunter?

Lady Catherine took a few turns in agitation and then sat down, her posture suddenly one of defeat. A moment later, the maid entered with the tea tray, and Darcy quickly fixed a cup for his aunt, adding plenty of sugar as she liked it.

The lady gulped down a few mouthfuls and leaned back against the plush couch, her expression grim.

“It is futile, then,” she murmured. “My only hope was that you knew something of this matter.”

“Why would I be aware of it?”

“Come, Darcy, I am no fool. You are engaged to Anne, but given your delay in marrying her, I realize you are less than enthusiastic at the prospect. I thought perhaps that Anne had written and convinced you that she had found her great love or some such nonsense. You are young enough, I suppose, to succumb to romantic foolishness.”

Darcy stared at his aunt as if she had suddenly grown a second head. “You believe that I would connive with a fortune hunter to sweep away my cousin, Lady Catherine? How could you imagine such a vile thing of me?”

“Mr. Fitzroy is no fortune hunter,” Catherine de Bourgh admitted.

“Who is he, then? How did he meet Anne?”

The lady heaved a deep, dejected sigh. “He is the fourth son of Sir Joshua Fitzroy, whose small estate borders Rosings on the southwest. Sir Joshua’s lady was absurdly prolific and presented her husband with no fewer than six sons and three daughters.”

“How did Mr. Fitzroy meet Anne?” Darcy asked again.

“Fitzroy took clerical orders several years ago, and when old Mr. Harrington died, I installed Fitzroy as curate at Hunsford while I sought a replacement vicar. Naturally, I had him to dine a few times, and he met Anne then.”

Darcy frowned. “Obviously you decided against awarding him the living. Was he objectionable in some way?”

“He was indeed,” the lady returned with fire in her eyes.

“He was not nearly deferential enough to me, his patroness, and his sermons were positively impertinent at times! He spouted off frequently about our equality before God and our need to care for the poor and other such nonsense. Indeed, I was forced to choose a new rector rather more quickly than I desired merely to get rid of the man! I feared that if Mr. Fitzroy stayed much longer at Hunsford, the common people would embrace seditious and dishonorable thoughts towards their betters. And now it appears that after he left, and Mr. Collins was installed, Fitzroy stayed in contact with Anne until she was seduced into eloping with him!”

Darcy felt his every muscle and bone in his body relax in relief. If this Mr. Fitzroy was an educated clergyman with a heart for the poor, he might well be the perfect husband for Anne.

“At least he is not a fortune hunter,” he said in a placating tone. “That must be a relief to you.”

“It is not a relief in the least,” the lady snarled angrily. “A fortune hunter could be bought off somehow. Do you realize that once Anne is married, Rosings will fall under the control of her husband? We must do something!!”

Like a sunburst breaking through heavy clouds, a glorious thought smote Darcy’s brain. Once Anne was married ...

“There is nothing we can do, Lady Catherine,” he said with repressed exultation. “This Mr. Fitzroy must have friends who can perform the ceremony, and Anne is of age. We might search the length and breadth of England and not find them in time to prevent the marriage.”

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