Page 7 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter seven
B efore the sun could stretch its arms and cover the hills in light, Catherine was wide awake. She pulled her quilt up around her chin to stave off the chill. The servants had not yet visited her chambers to stir her fireplace to life, and yet, and she was already melancholy. It had been nearly a fortnight since Mr Darcy’s departure, and the family avoided her still.
Tears ran down her face, a physical reaction to the yearning she felt for Eloise. In her dream, her elder sister had readied Catherine for her wedding day, advising her along the way. Eloise’s gentle demeanour and handsome face had bolstered her faith—and yet it was all wrong.
It was not real. The wedding she had prepared herself for her entire life had slipped through her fingers, and her sister too was gone. What more could she do? She was nothing if not prepared for marriage. Fitzwilliams were always ready. But it was out of her control now.
Hope tugged at her heart knowing her aunt, Lady Rosamund, would arrive that day. Perhaps all was not lost.
A winter storm settled into the hills and peaks in the late morning that had the entire house on edge. For the most part, the winter season had been irregularly dry, and while those who cultivated the ground may be happy for some rain and snow, Catherine could not but worry for her aunt making her final push towards Oakley.
Lady Rosamund Raleigh had sent a note the night before to tell the family of her intention to stop in Buxton and arrive at Oakley by the following afternoon. But with the state of the roads and the elevation, it would be a difficult day to travel. They all hoped Lady Rosamund might have remained in Buxton until the weather cleared, but they could not know.
Once the family sat down for dinner, everyone was quiet. Country hours or not, Lady Rosamund had still not arrived, and conversation was stilted with everyone’s shared distress. The sun would set soon, and if her aunt did not arrive by then, Oakley's servants would likely gather to travel into the night to attempt to recover the travel party.
Just when the soup course was being removed, the butler entered the dining room and bowed to her father’s ear to share a message. The entire room held their breath as they awaited news.
“She is arrived,” the earl declared, loosing a sigh of relief. “Please, all, let us go greet her immediately.” He turned to the butler and murmured that a tray should be prepared and sent ahead to his sister's rooms. “She will be fatigued and hungry.”
Lord and Lady Ashby were slow to rise from their seats, but Catherine’s anticipation was much like her father’s. She was eager to see her aunt after many years apart.
Lady Rosamund was nearly a decade younger than the earl, closer in age to Lady Barringer. A thrice-widowed lady of some property in Kent, she was a pure delight.
After greeting the earl and countess, as well as Lord and Lady Ashby, Lady Rosamund approached Catherine with a warmth in her eyes that immediately settled Catherine’s spirits. She felt she could take a deep breath for the first time in weeks.
She put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her on the cheek and murmuring, “I have worried over you for days, my dear. Please tell me you are well.”
Lady Rosamund eagerly looked into Catherine’s eyes for a signal of fortitude, it seemed. And while rapidly feeling she might lose her composure and fall into her aunt’s arms, Catherine nodded. Abruptly, she was overwrought with feeling. Her emotions were on the precipice of pouring out of her.
A light squeeze to her shoulders told Catherine that all would be well.
“I must immediately attend to a warm bath and refresh myself, dearest,” Lady Rosamund said to her. “But when I am through, I will send my lady for you. I wish to speak at the earliest opportunity.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
One final squeeze on her upper arm, and her aunt was taking the stairs up to the family wing of the house.
Catherine stood alone in the front hall and glanced outside through the front doors that had been unintentionally left open to the frigid elements.
The snow had changed over to a driving rain that had turned the lane that led to Oakley into a treacherous mud pit, with deep ruts in the drive where the carriages had pulled in front of the house. The harried, muddied servants moved quickly through the muck and rain, hurrying to do their duties so they too might sup and find warmth by a fire inside the house.
Rather than return to the dining room, Catherine stepped out onto the front terrace. Under the awning, she tipped her face to the sky to give thanks for the safe arrival of Lady Rosamund. She felt a twinge of confidence that this was just what she needed to feel courageous once again. The steady pounding of the rain and cool breeze seemed to energize Catherine. That is, until the wind pushed the rain sideways for a moment, drenching the front of her gown and drowning her newly found peace of mind.
A deep chuckle caught her attention across the yard, where a tall muscular man was barking orders to all the servants. Her eyes met his, and he turned his attention to the remaining servants.
The man was covered in mud from head to toe, his wool riding coat soaked through. His once cream breeches were splattered by the road, making Catherine pull back in horror. Poor Lady Rosamund! The storm must have given her such a fright.
Her aunt’s man continued pointing to various servants, directing their movements as they attempted to push one of the carriages out of a deep rut in the drive. When they were unable to budge the conveyance, the man joined the other men at the back of the carriage to help. Digging his tall boots into the slush and muck, they finally pushed the carriage out of the rut.
With that momentum, the horses were finally able to move. At length, the two carriages were directed around to the back of the house, along with a party of cold, grimy servants who walked alongside them.
Soaked from head to toe now, Catherine knew she should return inside, but she was mesmerized by the sheer will it had taken to free the carriage and horses.
Her aunt’s man watched the carriages disappear around the back of the house and turned to smile at Catherine. How proud he must be to have finally released the carriage from its hold in the ground. Catherine nodded in acknowledgement. What did she know about his type of work?
The man began approaching, climbing the steps to the terrace at the front of the house.
Catherine took a few steps back in confusion and looked around for the housekeeper to direct the man, but she was entirely alone.
“My lady, I presume?” he smiled as he reached the top of the steps. His mahogany brown hair was dishevelled, and she guessed that the abomination in his hands was a tricorn hat that was well past its time. Catherine almost laughed at his audacity, climbing the front steps of the house like he lived there.
“Have you lost your way, sir?” She finally found her voice.
His eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Pardon?”
“I am not certain what you are accustomed to, but at Oakley, the servants do not carry their mud into the house through the front doors.”
This seemed to amuse him and irritated her more.
“The servants’ entrance is around back, as you very well know,” Catherine declared.
Understanding dawned on his face. He was well and truly caught.
The unknown man smirked and tipped his head in a mock bow, chuckling as he turned back into the rain to return down the steps. No matter how much she respected her aunt for her liberality, Oakley was grounded in tradition. And as such, their servants were not welcome to enter through the front door—no matter the heroics this man might have performed to ensure Lady Rosamund arrived safely that night.
She did not like his manner, nor the way he turned back to stare at her before reaching the ground. The attention was peculiar and unwanted, certainly.
“Tell me your name. I shall have a word with your mistress.” She smirked right back. Two could play these games, and Lady Catherine dearly loved to win.
“ You may call me Lewis.”
He smiled, grinning ear to ear in an absurd manner while the rain picked up speed and drenched him right there at the bottom of the terrace.
“ I shall call you nothing,” Catherine chided back.
The nerve of that man!
Catherine moved quickly through the entryway and up the staircase to her bedchamber. She would have to change clothes. She was soaked.
Upon arriving, she saw her reflection in the mirror and thanked the heavens that no one of importance had seen her make such a scene. It was a rare moment when Catherine was not perfectly in control, and the unknown servant had caught her completely unawares with his conduct.
After changing and then finishing a dinner that seemed to drag on for far too long, Catherine was able to excuse herself from joining the ladies in the drawing room and instead visit Lady Rosamund in her chambers. The Sapphire Apartment in the family wing was aptly named, designed to include some of Lady Rosamund’s favourite combinations of sumptuous, rich blue fabrics chosen at a warehouse in London.
When Eloise had been taken to bed ill, Lady Barringer had rightly found tasks for Lady Catherine to keep her busy. And as such, Catherine had led the redecoration efforts of the guest room two summers prior.
The renovation had been a labour of love. Catherine always found pleasure in pleasing her aunt and felt a strong pull of connection to her. Lady Rosamund liked to tease that they were close because Lady Catherine now lived in the same apartments that she had also spent her girlhood in. Fate may be a fickle thing, but Catherine always loved that anecdote and imagined the full circle connection they felt was not simply surface level. It was deeper. And Lady Rosamund’s reaction at her arrival earlier that night had solidified Catherine’s faith in that feeling.
Looking refreshed and very fine, Catherine joined her aunt by the fire to talk.
“How terrible the roads must have been!” Catherine said.
“We had no expectation of rain until we had travelled more than halfway to Oakley. Our drivers argued over a course of action—one wanting to turn back and the other anxious to move on. In the end, we decided to keep to our plan so we might not cause you all distress.”
“Indeed, we were worried!”
“I am certain you were, but as you see, I am well. No harm is done,” Lady Rosamund replied kindly.
“I am relieved to hear it. You cannot imagine how much I have anticipated your arrival.”
“I am sure I can guess at it. Your father’s note left much to be desired in the way of details, my dear. Of course, I understood his urgency, that you are not engaged as we anticipated and that I must take Lady Anne back to Kent. But please, I beg you—tell me what has happened, and do not leave out any particulars.”
Catherine explained the events of the last month—from the Darcys’ arrival and exit to the younger Mr Darcy’s departure as well. She felt her face burn with humiliation when she described the event that took place in the stable. And Lady Rosamund looked equally ill when Catherine described her family’s efforts to entice Mr Darcy to remain and propose as planned. The weeks that had passed had not eased any of her discomfort.
“Oh, my darling girl.” Lady Rosamund pulled Catherine into a warm hug, and Catherine felt the tension in her shoulders ease at her touch.
“I see why your father wants Anne banned to Kent, but I would rather hear what you want.”
“What I want?” No one ever asked Catherine that. “My parents plan to take me to London with great haste and secure a speedy marriage so that my reputation remains intact.”
“I imagine that means you will have even less say in the matter. Surely you know the risk of securing a gentleman who is overly eager to find a bride.”
The thought had not crossed her mind. She trusted her parents implicitly.
“My father and mother will make the right choice for me. They understand the importance of a marriage partner.”
Lady Rosamund looked less than convinced but quickly changed the subject to that of recent happenings in her corner of the world. Catherine had not visited Kent since she was a girl—and only once. Her parents rarely allowed the children to accompany them on their travels. However, one summer when she was a young girl, she and her sisters were taken along and spent a month full in Kent with Lady Rosamund and her second husband, a Mr John Harrowby. Since that time, Lady Rosamund’s second husband had died, and she had married and widowed once more. Catherine had never visited Whitmore, the estate her aunt currently owned, that was left to Lady Rosamund by her third husband, Jasper Raleigh.
The stories of her aunt’s neighbourhood amused Catherine. It sounded very different from Derbyshire society.
“Thus, when my neighbour learned I had been summoned to Oakley, I was asked to join their travel party. They were already travelling in this direction and had sent ahead for fresh horses and rooms the entire way. And so, it only made good sense that I accompanied my friend north. Now that I have been safely delivered to my family, they shall go on to Manchester for some business dealings there.”
“Business dealings! How scandalous.” Fitzwilliams did not socialize with the working class.
“Not all landowners rely on only their property for income. It may be hidden from much of good society, but many know the secret to success in England is having your hand in many purses.”
Catherine had to wonder about what types of people her aunt called friends, but it would mean nothing to her what strangers in Kent got around to.