Page 5 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter five
T he new plan was working. Not only had Mr Darcy forgone a morning ride and joined them for the morning meal, but Anne had taken a tray in her room. Even with a pounding headache reminding her of the many glasses of punch from the night before, Catherine felt nearly giddy with her prowess in acquiring a husband. It appeared that Lady Ashby had been right all along—it was better to find ways to make the gentleman desire to know her more.
“What think you of an outing to better enjoy the peaks?” Lady Barringer asked and took a sip of her tea, her question addressed to Mr Darcy.
Mr Darcy nodded and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That sounds lovely, your ladyship.”
“You cannot visit Oakley without a picnic in the hills. We could stop in Hayfield for some shopping and make a day of it.”
“It has been many years since I visited the village,” Mr Darcy replied.
“I am certain not much has changed, but it is good for the villagers to see a great gentleman now and again.” Lady Barringer nodded along with her own suppositions. “My daughter would enjoy some time out of doors.”
Catherine would rather drown in the River Sett than go on a picnic in January.
Before she could respond to her mother in the affirmative, Mr Darcy replied, “Yes, Lady Anne does seem to be something of a nature enthusiast.”
Her mother seemed stricken at that comment—left unusually mute.
It was up to Ashby to save the conversation. “Lady Anne has a very busy schedule, what with her London debut approaching.”
“I would enjoy a picnic,” Lady Catherine spoke into the tense void. She would not, in fact, enjoy a picnic. Nay—a picnic sounded like torture.
“Yes, as I said, Lady Catherine would appreciate some time out of doors, much like yourself, sir.” Lady Barringer smiled at Mr Darcy. Her mother had drawn her name out, spoken with a reverence and gentleness that was foreign to Catherine’s ears.
Catherine glanced at Mr Darcy to see what his answer would be and found a nod from him was considered a sufficient response.
Luckily for their entire party, a gentle rain covered Oakley by the middle of that morning and continued laying a light, icy glaze over the entire estate and the peaks that watched over their property in the distance. Alas, the picnic would not be.
Peppered with information about Catherine’s many interests and preferences, Mr Darcy seemed less and less attentive as the day waned on. Whether it was the countess, Ashby, or Catherine herself, the gentleman was merely polite in his short responses. Efforts to ask about his interests or share her own were both failures. No matter how hopeful she had felt that morning, all of the actions she took seemed to falter no matter her level of exertion.
She rose the next morning with a new plan in place—she would simply ignore him. If she sought to have him become the pursuer, then she would give her suitor nothing. She did not look in his direction nor inquire after his health for two full days.
She triumphed over her ability to fashion an air of mystery with respect to her person. He should feel the weight of his inaction and labour for her notice.
While Catherine was floating on the high of her success, it appeared that Lady Anne was not experiencing any pleasure of her own.
Without knowing any of the details, Catherine came upon a scene of Lady Anne exploding in a unique brand of anger she had never seen from her sister before—and with their mother as the recipient, no less! It horrified Catherine to see her sister abuse their mother in such a way.
When Catherine entered the library with a plan to help them find a way to harmony, Anne immediately pretended an ennui that was very fashionable indeed. Catherine had studied the emotion at length but could never quite perfect the art of caring little. If anything, she spent most of her time quieting all her strong feelings, as she had long been taught.
Shove would be too strong of a word for how Lady Barringer forced a fur-lined wool cloak into her hands and physically moved Lady Catherine out the terrace doors the next morning. Appalled by her mother’s lack of manners, Catherine glanced back at her, saw her immovable expression, and huffed in private annoyance.
It was frigid—January in the peaks was not a time to be taking a stroll anywhere. Thankfully, the snow and frost had melted under the sun all morning, and while she would have to deal with her skirt being muddied, at least she would not be sliding down the terrace steps today. It was regretful that she did not have time to retrieve her newest muff. Mothers were always forgetful of these types of details—Jones would not have overlooked the opportunity to have Catherine looking her finest.
Adjusting her cloak and holding her chin high, Lady Catherine marched towards the stables. She need not even open her eyes, because the odour of the animals would have guided her steps on their own. This was not a place she enjoyed spending time—it had been years since she had visited the horses in this manner.
But her future husband was forever visiting the stables in the mornings, and according to the countess, ignoring one’s suitor was not in their best interest.
“If he must spend time in the stables, so must you,” Lady Barringer had told her before scooting her out onto the terrace.
A sennight had passed since the Darcys first arrived, and her mother was becoming impatient. Surprisingly, Catherine was caring less and less whether she had Mr Darcy’s good opinion.
It was not difficult to find Darcy, but her shock was physical when she saw Anne in the stables as well. No servants were present—only her sister, dressed in her newest, deep violet riding habit, backed up against the door to a horse stall.
Artemis reached her long nose over the stall door and nudged her sister’s wild, chestnut hair. Anne reached back over her shoulder to rub the horse’s nose, never taking her eyes off Mr Darcy.
Catherine knew she must think of some reason for visiting the stables and announce her presence. And yet, she had not selected an appropriate excuse. It was why she had not yet called out to the gentleman and her sister upon entering. The absurdity of it was that her quick mind could think of no reason a sane person would be out of doors, breath hanging in the air in front of their faces, in this weather.
Mr Darcy reached out and brushed her sister’s wind-swept hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. Catherine’s own face heated in response, but not Anne’s. Anne held his gaze with a courage Catherine could not know—seemingly daring him to stop touching her. And he did not. His fingers ran gently across her cheek and traced the length of her chin. Anne reached her hand up to grasp his arm—but not to stop him, as she should. Instead, she squeezed his forearm and smiled gently at him. Hers were the batting eyelashes the ladies in seminary had all longed to achieve. Her long, dark lashes fluttered closed, and Catherine watched as Darcy leaned forward to kiss her sister’s freckled forehead.
The affection was startling. Catherine had never witnessed anything like it. Her own stomach had dropped in a foul sensation that had her desiring to run for a chamber pot at once.
As startling as the behaviour was, Catherine was worldly enough to comprehend what had transpired—betrayal.
Duplicity—and from her only living sister! Catherine’s hands shook as she hurried back to the main house and in through the servants’ doors at the lowest level. There was no sense in going to her mother, she would simply see this as another failure on Catherine’s part.
All this time, Catherine had worried she would not be as perfect a bride as Eloise. Now there was something to finally laugh about! She felt near to hysterics at the thought—a maniacal laughter bubbled in her breast, though she did not let it out.
She had imagined that Mr Darcy had wanted the poised and polite Eloise, when it appeared he wanted to burn within the fire that was Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. Anne was the embodiment of young joy and a flippant disregard for society. Never one to care for rules or limits, Anne crossed as many as she could each day. And, she had finally crossed right over a boundary that would shake the entire house of Fitzwilliam—the very earldom of Barringer could come toppling down because of one careless moment in a stable. Damn Anne. She was always up to no good.
Could not Anne fathom what her actions would render? What disharmony would soon come over their family? Did her selfishness know no bounds?
Catherine was not quite certain where she was headed until she stood before the door of one of Oakley’s principal rooms—her father’s study. A rare guest in his domain, she felt the nerves overtake her as she knocked on his door.
Her father appeared to be as surprised to see her as she was to be entering. She would not call her father unkind, but he was a private man. The earl was very busy, and as such, Catherine saw very little of him.
“Please close the door,” was his only instruction, as he gestured to a sturdy chair that sat before his desk. She imagined he might speak to her much like her brother had done from behind his desk. Alternatively, her father stood, abandoning his well-used chair that held his imprint from many years of use.
He moved around his desk and sat in the chair accompanying her own.
Once settled, he gave her his full attention—and it was so unique and so long missing that Catherine’s heart twinged at the consideration.
“What can I do for you, my dear?”
Unsure how to begin, Catherine froze. Her upbringing had been very specific about how to handle most situations, but she was uncertain even about the words necessary to explain what she had witnessed.
A gentle hand met her knee, encouraging her to speak and melting away some of the fear in her heart. “I believe Mr Darcy would prefer to marry Anne.”
“Oh posh! Has your mother been in your ear?”
“Well, of course, I have spoken at length to my mother on this subject. But that is not why I have come.”
“Hmm?” His raised eyebrows prompted her on.
“I have just come from the stables.”
“In this weather?” The earl looked out his window to confirm the frigid day.
“Yes, sir.”
“And?”
Catherine swallowed past the catch in her throat. “And I came across Mr Darcy and my sister.”
Now that got his attention. He sat farther upright in his chair.
“They were—I mean, as I understood it—the situation was—” Catherine’s face reddened with embarrassment. She could not stop her hands from shaking nor bring her gaze up from her lap.
The gentle father was gone. The tall, strong earl in his place—fearsome in his visage.
“Are you trying to tell me that your sister was compromised by Mr Darcy in our stables today?” The earl inquired, completely still.
She nodded in response. She did not know whether to cry or run from his study. This was all her fault.
The earl stood and opened the door, speaking quietly to the footman in the hall.
“Your mother will join us.”
Catherine could not look at her father as he took his rightful place behind his large mahogany desk, and they awaited the countess.
“We shall send Anne to my sister in Kent,” her father said.
“What of her come out?” Lady Barringer argued. “The entire ton will be in an uproar to find out we are no longer going to town for the Season! What shall I tell my friends? The last I spoke to many ladies of the ton , I had informed them that in due time Catherine would be well disposed of in marriage.”
Catherine continued to sit in her father’s study, but she had not been invited to participate in the conversation.
“If only Catherine had taken greater advantage of her first Season, there would be another gentleman to consider—”
“Pray, let us be clear!” The earl bellowed. “I will not be made a mockery of. I was wrong to leave this in the hands of you and Mrs Darcy. I should have forced the young man into a written contract long ago.”
“But, sir, I wanted to allow Mr. Darcy some time—do you not see how tall she is? Her square shoulders? Did you see how she ignored him for days? Heaven and earth, what of the loudness of her voice?”
Catherine wanted to hike into the peaks and never return.
“The boy has known our family for his entire life! What was there to learn about Catherine in the past sennight that could not have been known before? He knows all that he must—she is a young lady of distinction, marked as such since her birth!”
“Well, she is certainly not Eloise,” the countess murmured.
And with that, all hope and courage dissolved from Catherine. She resigned all ambition and let herself wallow in fear.
“What if we increased her dowry?” Lady Barringer asked, unexpectedly hopeful.
“Madam, do you hear yourself?” The earl yelled and slammed his fist down. “I trust that you comprehend that Catherine is a perfectly lovely girl, and her 40,000 pounds is quite enough for any young gentleman. It is the other daughter of yours I am concerned over.”
“Anne?”
“I am sending her to Kent before she ruins us all. I will send an express to my sister tonight. She mentioned in her last letter that her neighbours were visiting the peaks soon. She might join their party to travel here.”
“What will we say?” Lady Barringer, who always knew what to say and how to act, looked stricken with uncertainty.
“Until Rosamund arrives, we have time to make plans. We shall take Catherine to town as soon as Anne is gone to Kent, and we shall secure a husband for her as quickly as possible. And this time, you will not mistake me when I say I expect a gentleman who will follow through—someone whom we can trust.”
“Yes, sir,” her mother responded through gritted teeth.
“No more of your friends and their empty promises,” the earl commanded.
Lady Barringer did not reply.
In the privacy of her bedchamber, Catherine finally shed the tears she had been holding back in her father’s study. She had been raised to have great ambition and had failed miserably. Would she ever know acceptance from her parents?
Jones entered quietly, joined her on the bed, and ran a hand down Catherine’s cheek. The only woman who had ever shown any affection to Catherine held her while she poured out all of her emotions.
“My lady, all will be well,” she crooned.
“How can it be now? I have disappointed my mother, and every expectation for my future prospects is now beyond my grasp.”
“Your path may not be that which your mother laid out for you, but it does not mean there is no way forward. Set your own course.”
“I would not know how. If only Eloise were here.”
Catherine mourned her sister once again—privately, as she had for the past fourteen months. Emotions were not welcome at Oakley. Fitzwilliams did not bother with tears and passion. They were built more strongly than that.
“I fear I have some news that may add to your distress, my lady,” Jones mentioned quietly.
Catherine turned her eyes to the dearest servant in all of England.
“As you know, my mother is ailing. My brother has written to call me home. I have just received word that the countess has approved an extended absence. I came to take my leave of you.”
Heart already breaking, Catherine felt it crumble into nothing. Without Jones, she would lack the support and encouragement she had become accustomed to for many years. She had heard Jones speak of her mother with such kindness, and it made her heart ache for the same. Her mother had not even shed a tear over the death of Eloise. Catherine would have to be made of sterner stuff to endure a Season in town without Jones.
Hoping to keep a shred of dignity intact, Catherine told Jones to travel safely. She could not live with herself if she begged a servant to stay at her side rather than travel to care for a dying mother—even if she felt the sting of jealousy.
Catherine took a tray in her chambers that evening. She was too mortified to dine with the family.
She had been unworthy of this marriage arrangement from the start and would now live with the consequences.
Anne’s lady’s maid, Reynolds, joined her later that night to prepare for sleep. Reynolds was young for an upstairs maid and far more like Anne than she—flighty and too quick to speak her mind; however, that tendency was beneficial when Catherine was looking for information.
“How is my sister?” she asked while Reynolds brushed the knots from her hair.
“Lady Anne is overwhelmed with sentiment, my lady. Her feelings for the younger Mr Darcy were strong, I suspect.”
Catherine pursed her lips. So, everyone had known what was going on except for her. The servants must have been laughing at her foolish efforts to secure the match.
“The countess is rightly angry with her, my lady, but none so angry as the earl. He called her wanton and threatened to keep her at home until she was a spinster, he did! Lucky for Lady Anne, Lady Rosamund will come and take her to Kent. Maybe she will meet a nice gentleman in the countryside.”
Catherine rolled her eyes at this. Reynolds and all the servants were empathetic to Anne’s plight, hoping she would still make a fine match, when she was not the one whose reputation was now damaged. Anne had nearly set the entire Fitzwilliam family into a true scandal—who was to say she had not already done so! If word got out, both ladies could be ruined forever. And then who would marry them?