Chapter 1
Posted on Thursday, 1 June 2000, at 12 : 01 a.m.
"Rose. Rose. Rose!" Mary Heighton finally yelled at her only child.
Rose lifted her nose from the book it was buried in. "Yes Mother?" she asked impatiently. She was deep into The Mysteries of Udolpho and no matter how much she liked to trivialize Mrs. Radcliffe's work, she was hooked.
"Darling, your father and I have thought for quite some time that you needed a change of environment." Mary paused and waited for Rose to protest. She didn't, only gazed steadily at her with dark green eyes. "So, I have written to your Aunt and Uncle Darcy to ask if they might be willing to have you at Pemberley. They were more than happy at the prospect of an extended visit. They want you to come as soon as possible." Mary stopped again and waited for a response. None came. "Say something, darling. Don't you think it sounds fun? A few months in the country?"
"I'm not exactly a country girl, Mother, as you well know. Am I being punished?"
"Oh no, Rose! This is a wonderful opportunity for you. You don't have nearly enough female company, and at Pemberley you can talk all day long with your cousin, Olivia." At this Rose wrinkled up her nose. "She's just your age, you know. You'll have so much fun that I'm sure you'll forget all about your poor parents and never write. We'll miss you much more than you'll miss us."
"You really want me to go, don't you?" Rose asked gravely.
"Oh yes, dear. For your sake."
"Then I'll go. For you." Rose stood up and kissed her mother on the cheek and left the room. As she walked through the door she passed her father who was just coming in.
"Where are you going, Thorn?" Elliot Heighton asked, using his pet name for her.
"To pack," she answered simply and ran up the stairs.
Elliot embraced his wife. "Did she make a fuss?"
"You know Rose. Of course not. She wasn't overly happy, though."
"Are you sure that this is for the best, Mary?"
"El, remember how I was when I met you? Bookish and all too serious. That's exactly how Rose is now. We've done our best, but literary circles aren't the only ones a girl should travel in."
"I still don't know," Elliot said. "Thorn hasn't ever left home before."
"And that's exactly why she should go! Elliot, Rose is a beautiful and intelligent young woman. She has hundreds of doors open to her, she just doesn't know that they exist yet. Do you really want her to marry the first writer who proposes without having any idea that there are other types of men in the world? I just want her to be happy, like me."
Elliot smiled at his little wife, her cheeks flushed with argument. "Alright, you've convinced me. As usual, you're right, Paleface. When does she leave?"
"Tomorrow morning at eight. She'll only have to make one stop, and I thought we could send Beth and Tom with her."
"I'm going to miss her."
"So am I El, so am I."
Chapter 2
Rose was tossing fitfully on the creaky inn mattress. The next day she would arrive at Pemberley to stay with her aunt, uncle, and cousins. The thought made her audibly groan. Rose's father was the head of a publishing company, her mother was a writer (Rose had even been named for her pen name, Rose Templeton). For her whole life Rose had associated with some of the most intellectual people in London, and they had all been very adult. Rose had been a grown-up when she was eleven, now at the age of seventeen she felt she had the wisdom of a person twice her age. Her cousins, as she remembered them were childish and stupid. Even Olivia was almost certainly a flirt and coquette. It made no difference that the Darcys were one of the country's most important families and were known in the highest ranks of society. This even made it worse, because Rose knew that she was coming so that her aunt could find her a husband. A rich and boring, ignorant husband who had never even heard of Shakespeare, let alone John Donne. She didn't have any intention of marriage. She was perfectly happy the way she was. It was all well and good that poorer women had to marry to preserve rank and respect, however she was her father's heir. It wasn't being a spinster that brought disrespect, it was lack of money. Rose understood how the world worked. Since she would have plenty of money she had decided that she would dedicate her life to writing deep and profound works that would be her legacy instead of children. Rose had it all figured out and she didn't appreciate her mother and aunt trying to interfere with her plans. Disturbed by the thought of her future being played with, she only fell asleep when her hair and nightdress were thoroughly damp and twisted. She had nightmares of suitors calling on her with their hunting dogs and wearing lederhosen.
Elizabeth Darcy glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of her husband's office. "Rose should be here anytime now."
Fitzwilliam glanced up from his work. "Good."
"You're sure you don't mind?"
"Mind your sister and my good friend's daughter? Of course not, Elizabeth." He looked back to his letter, then stood up. "I would, however, like to have a talk with her and emphasize the sisterly relationship she is to have with our boys."
Elizabeth laughed, "Will, you always will be a snob deep down inside, won't you? I wouldn't force an attachment on anyone, but if one occurred between Rose and one of our sons, what would the problem be? She had plenty of money, if that's what you're worried about."
"Well, yes, I know. But..."
"But, the publishing business is a little too close to trade for you. Isn't it?"
Fitzwilliam sighed. His wife could always read his mind, even when, and especially when he didn't want her to. "You know that I would never stand in the way of my children's happiness, Lizzy. If Charles or Ben wanted to marry Rose I wouldn't stop them. But this is conversation is rather pointless, isn't it? Rose isn't even here yet, and we're fixing her as our soon-to-be daughter-in-law."
"And I'm distracting you from your work. I'll go and see what Georgiana and the girls are up to." Lizzy stood on her tiptoes and kissed her husband's head before she walked out.
Georgiana and the girls- her daughter Olivia and Georgiana's twin daughters Eleanor and Catherine Tilney were in the music room. Georgiana was playing the piano, Olivia the harp, and the twins were singing prettily in high, clear voices. Elizabeth smiled, "What glorious music! Why would one ever go to London when such talent can be found in one's own home? I should start selling tickets."
Georgiana laughed shyly. Even after twenty years of marriage, she was still the slim, bashful blonde that Elizabeth had first met at an inn in Lambton. "Don't be silly Lizzy."
"I can't help it!"
"Lizzy, did the boys tell you that they were going hunting today?" Georgiana asked.
Elizabeth sighed in frustration, "I know I don't have any control over your Henry, Georgie, but I thought I still had some authority over my own sons. I wanted them here to welcome Rose."
"That's probably why they left," Olivia Darcy said, humor shading her voice.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, either in reproof or agreement when Catherine, peering out the window, called, "She's here! She's here!"
"She's here! She's here!" Eleanor repeated.
"She's here! She's here!" Olivia mimicked under her breath. Sometimes her fifteen year-old cousins' high spirits wore on her nerves.
Elizabeth shot her daughter a reproachful glare and hurried down the stairs to meet her niece.
Chapter 3
Rose stared out the carriage window in confusion. She saw her aunt, uncle, and cousin Olivia (Charles and Bennet were nowhere to be seen), but also several unfamiliar faces. The chaise rolled to a stop and she awkwardly climbed out, her legs asleep after hours of sitting. She just looked at them, not wanting to make the first move.
Aunt Darcy broke the ice crying, "Rose, dear, how wonderful to have you! It's been so long." She wrapped her in a warm embrace, then led her around the half-circle of people. "Of course you remember your Uncle Darcy and cousin Olivia. Charles and Ben are, ahemhunting."
"Yes, of course," Rose replied and shook hands with both of them.
"These people," Aunt Darcy said, gesturing to the strangers that completed the welcoming committee, "Are my husband's sister's family. Colonel Tilney, Mrs. Tilney, Eleanor, and Catherine, meet my niece, Rose Heighton. The Tilneys also have a son, Henry, but he is with my sons, ahem, hunting."
Rose surveyed them coolly. Aunt and Uncle Darcy were the same. Aunt's figure had maybe filled out a bit in the last three years, and there were more lines around her sparkling eyes and smiling mouth. Uncle's hair was a tad more gray. Olivia was quite changed. The last time Rose had seen her, her hair had been in pigtails and she had been barely over four feet tall. Now, her cousin appeared every bit the young lady, although she was still diminutive, Rose estimated only five feet. Olivia's eyes were the exact replicas of her mother's in size and color, but whereas the latter's shone with a sort of witty kindness, Olivia's held a satirical gleam. The two Tilney girls, Rose figured they were twins, appeared to be very silly, with bouncy light brown hair and wide hazel eyes. Both of their feet were tapping. Rose took them for the type that could never be still for more than thirty seconds. Mrs. Tilney was, in her late thirties, very pretty and seemed to be rather timid. Her hazel eyes kept on the ground. Colonel Tilney was a very handsome man, though much older than his wife. Rose guessed him to be around fifty. He had black hair, shaded with silver at the temples, and stood in a very superior way. Previously Rose hadn't known it was possible to stand in a superior way.
"Well, Rose, are you ready to come inside? Lucy will show your servants where to go. Follow me," Aunt Darcy commanded.
Rose was given a lengthy tour of Pemberley House, but still felt like she would need a map to get around. Her room was large, airy, and quite nice. However, it was right by the twins' rooms. She hoped that they weren't the types for midnight meetings. After the grand tour they retired to dress and went down to dinner. The young men had not yet returned, and Rose could tell that her aunt was vexed by it. When dinner was through she was invited into her uncle's office, her aunt trailing behind her. She figured that they were going to lay down the Darcy law.
"Ah, Rose," Darcy began, twisting his pinky ring. "We are very pleased to have you here. No doubt you will be a cheerful addition to our family party." Rose could swear that she saw her aunt roll her eyes at the beginning of her husband's stiff speech. Your aunt and I hope you have a sisterly relationship with our children. Yes, indeed, we most certainly encourage you to treat our sons as your own brothers." Rose had a sinking suspicion where this conversation was hinting at. "Yes. Charles and Ben have always wanted to have another sister. What do you say? Shall you be their sister."
Rose bit her lip in anger and annoyance. "Have no fear, Uncle. I have no intention of marrying one of your sons."
Darcy was surprised at being confronted. "What..."
"Well, isn't that what you were trying to imply by emphasizing the sisterly relationship I am to have with them? That you don't want me to have a romantic relationship with them?"
"I...um..."
"Do you know, Uncle Darcy, that before the Church of England was founded the citizens of our great nation needed a papal dispensation to marry their first cousins? Now, when a person needs the Pope's approval to marry someone doesn't it make you think that it best ought not be done?"
Even her aunt was speechless at this outburst. Rose sighed and figured that she had better mind her manners at least for the first day. "I'm sorry. Please excuse my little speech. I'm used to saying whatever I want at home. In fact, with my parent's friends a sharp tongue is a person's best defense. But I'm not at home, and it was very rude of me. I'm not in need of any siblings, Uncle, but I shall try my best to have a cousinly relationship with your children. May I be excused?"
Darcy nodded vaguely. He was still surprised. He had never expected Elliot's eyes to look at him so angrily before. Rose Heighton, in appearance, most resembled his wife's eldest sister, with her tall form and golden hair. But in temperament, Jane Bingley she was most certainly not.
Chapter 4
Rose stormed out of Darcy's study and right into a solid figure lounging outside the door. "Ouch!" it cried in a rich, deep voice. "Excuse me Lady Dragon, please don't breathe fire at me!"
She was in no humor for jests, especially those made by a person she didn't even know. "Let my by, whoever you are. I'm in no mood to me trifled with."
"But don't you want to know who I am? I know you, Rose Heighton."
Rose peered in the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of her tormentor. She could only see shadows. "No, I don't really care who you are. I only care that you are in my way. So move!"
"So serious, my lady Dragon. I heard your talk with Darcy in there. Don't you ever laugh?"
"Laughing is highly overrated, in my opinion, and so is eavesdropping. Get out of my way!" she hissed and delivered a sharp kick to his shin
"Ouch!" he cried for the second time. "Yes, my lady, Henry Tilney at your service." In the dark she could see him give a low, exaggerated bow, and he stepped out of her path. "By the way, Miss Heighton, I already have all the sisters I need," he called after her as she stalked down the hall.
Chapter 5
Posted on Sunday, 2 July 2000, at 11 : 24 p.m.
When Rose awoke the next morning the sun shining through her window was already high in the sky. She rubbed her bleary eyes and rang for Beth to help her dress. When she finally stumbled down to breakfast the table was empty except for a brown-haired young man with hazel eyes. She helped herself from the sideboard and sat down at the opposite end from him. After she had taken a few bites she realized he was staring at her with an odd grin on his face. She ignored it and took another couple of bites. Then she looked over again slyly. He was still staring. "Would you please stop staring at me?" she snapped. "You're ruining my breakfast."
"That's alright. It's almost time for lunch. Did you sleep well?" he answered grinning.
Rose knew that voice. "You!" she snarled.
"My, my, Miss Heighton! You slept half the day away and you're still in a foul mood. I'm impressed," Henry Tilney said.
Rose shoved her plate away. "Mr. Tilney, could you please tell me where to find my aunt and cousin?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"I could take you there."
"Just tell me."
"But you might get lost."
"At least I'd be without you."
"Fine," Henry sighed. "They're in the music room. You can almost always find them there."
Rose turned and started down the hall. Henry followed her, whistling gaily. "Why are you following me?"
"I'm not. I'm just...walking."
She started moving again, Henry still at her feet giving a piercing rendition of 'Non Piu Andrai'. "Would you stop whistling at me?"
"I'm not whistling at you."
"Well, you're not whistling with me."
Henry sighed again. "May I ask you a personal question?" he asked in a mock whisper.
"No."
He disregarded her negative response and continued, "Is your corset too tight. I mean that happened to Cathy once, and-" He was cut off by a stinging slap to the cheek.
"Why do you insist on insulting me?" Rose demanded to know.
"I'm just trying to make you laugh."
"By insulting me."
"Well," Henry smiled, rubbing his cheek, "My Uncle Tilney tells me that if you can laugh at yourself then you'll never be short of amusement."
"In your case that is most certainly true," Rose said dryly. "But as for me... Life is serious. There is poverty, crime, and death all around us. Disease and ignorance are widespread. I see little cause for merriment in our world, and I'm not going to pretend."
Henry's expression grew as serious as her own. "I know, Miss Heighton, I know. But what can we do? Why should we sacrifice happiness for events we have no control over? What are you going to do to change things, besides being a walking thundercloud which is hardly effective."
"I am going to write books, to inform people of the problems that threaten our society."
"Books have been written, Miss Heighton, and the people are informed. A few more won't make much of a difference."
Now Rose looked as if she had been slapped. She quickly walked the length of the hallway, to the music room door. As she turned the knob Henry called out, "I will make you laugh, Rose Heighton. I promise you that!"
Chapter 6
The scene in the music room would have made a wonderful painting. Eleanor and Mrs. Tilney were seated side by side on the piano bench playing a duet. Mrs. Darcy was embroidering, Catherine was trimming a headdress, and Olivia was scribbling furiously in a journal. It was the very picture of the feminine ideal. Rose's aunt looked up from her work and smiled in welcome. It was as if she had forgotten Rose's outburst the night before. "Good morning, Rose. I gather you slept well."
"Indeed, Aunt, very well." She was somewhat embarrassed by the late hour of her awakening. The last thing she wanted was for her relatives to think she was a lazy chit.
Mrs. Darcy, however, had no censure in her gaze. "Please take a seat by Olivia," she said warmly.
Rose sat down on the settee where Olivia was perched. Her cousin didn't even look up, and after a few minutes of silence Rose was ready to return to her room. Right when she stood up, Olivia spoke. "Pray do not leave us so soon, Cousin. Take a turn about the room with me, I would like to talk to you."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Really? It seemed to me that you were otherwise engaged."
Olivia shrugged. "So, how do you find Derbyshire?"
"It is lovely. Surely anyone would find so. However, I confess that already I feel the delights of London calling me back."
"What think you of Pemberley?"
"Tis a beautiful place, most happily situated."
"And what of it's inhabitants?"
"My Aunt and Uncle are very gracious to invite me-" here she blushed, recalling her harsh words the night before. She didn't always mean to sound so prickly, it just came out. Rose continued, "Your Aunt and Uncle are most genteel. Your brothers I have not had the pleasure of much conversation, and the same thing is true of the Miss Tilneys."
"You forgot someone," Olivia prompted. "Henry."
Rose's cheeks became flushed again, this time out of anger. "Mr. Tilney is quite possibly the most impertinent, rude, self-centered-" She stopped because Olivia was laughing. "What? Am I telling untruths?"
"Oh no," Olivia laughed. "Henry is very impertinent. But I can't help feeling sorry for the poor boy."
"Why? Because he will be mocked and despised and censured wherever he goes in life?"
"No. Believe it or not Henry is very well liked. The reason I feel sorry for him is that dear Henry is very much in love with me."
Rose gasped, "Mr. Tilney is in love with you?"
"Oh heavens, yes! He doesn't stand a chance, though. He is handsome enough, and rich, but so are hundreds of men. I want a title. A Duchess. I could settle for Marquess, or possibly even Countess, but to be plain Mrs. Tilney? Never!"
All of Rose's romantic sensibilities, however repressed they were, had been formed by the gothic novels she read in secret. She was quite shocked by he cousin's mercenary feelings. If, if she ever got married it would only be the very deepest sort of love.
"To change subjects," Olivia said, "what are you wearing to the Lawsons' ball tomorrow night?"
"Ball?" Rose groaned.
"Don't tell me you don't like balls? I've been longing for a ball."
"I don't dance."
"What a funny thing." Olivia peered at her with sharp eyes. "You still have to go. They sent a special invitation for you when they heard you were coming. It would be horribly rude."
"Yes, I suppose it would be," Rose sighed. "If you'll excuse me I need to find something to wear."
As she was walking away Olivia said, "Oh dear, it is most likely that Henry will ask me for the first dance tomorrow. I shall be obliged to say yes. I really do try not to break his heart, but he makes it so hard for himself."
When Rose reached her room she began flinging dresses out of the wardrobe and onto her bed. Soon, however, she threw herself on the bed in frustration. It wasn't lack of proper clothing that caused this despair, she had come to Derbyshire prepared for anything, rather the conversation she had had with Henry Tilney after breakfast. The foolish boy would insist on tormenting her! He had asked her why she didn't laugh. Rose couldn't remember her response without a blush. She had made herself out to be some saint, a perfect angel with only the sorry state of the country giving her distress. The truth was that Rose had seldom considered life outside of her own small world, except in very cerebral and emotionally-detached discussions with her parent's colleagues. She had lied, and she hated lying, because she didn't want to admit the real cause for her unhappiness. The truth was that there was no cause, no reason for facing life in such a serious matter. She was just unhappy. Why? Perhaps boredom. Or maybe because she had gone through eighteen years of life without one good friend.
Chapter 7
The next day Rose made sure to awake not long after the sun had risen. No more breakfast tête-à-têtes with Mr. Tilney for her! She sat at the table with her scone and chocolate alone, just how she wanted it. After she finished her meal she felt her uncle's fine library calling her. She hadn't picked up a book since eight o'clock the night before.
She found her way without getting lost and, feeling quite proud of herself, she pushed the door open. She was rewarded with a sunny, "Good morning Miss Heighton!" from none other than Tilney himself.
"Well, it was," Rose muttered.
"Was what?" he asked.
"A good morning."
"Ah, I see," he grinned, not at all put off. "I thought Miss Heighton that we should further our acquaintance by telling each other a bit about ourselves. I'll begin. I was born December 4th 18-- and named after my uncle, the Reverend Henry Til-"
"Stop!" Rose interrupted. "A library is for books, Mr. Tilney."
"Of course. Shall we talk about books?"
"If we must talk at all."
"Do you enjoy Shakespeare?" Mr. Tilney queried.
"Yes I do, very much."
"Tell me Miss Heighton, if you were ever to take to the stage, which heroine would you most want to play? And if you say Juliet I shall laugh."
Rose pondered for a moment. "Ophelia," she finally said.
"But Rose, you are no shrinking violet!"
She rolled her eyes at his sorry attempt at a pun. "Well, Lady Macbeth then. Or Gertrude."
"Do you only admire the Bard's tragedies, Miss Heighton? What of his comedies?" Henry asked.
"Beatrice, I suppose."
"Hmm..Beatrice. Well, you certainly have the tongue, but I don't think she's quite right for you. Helena has always been my favorite, she earns my sympathy. But although you look the part, Helena is too girlish for you. Viola? No." Suddenly an impish smile covered his face. "I've got it!" He cried. "Katarina!"
"The Shrew?" Rose shrieked. "Well, you...you are Sir Toby Belch, or Nick Bottom, or better yet, Caliban!"
"I, my dear, am Petruchio, and before you storm out of here there is something I would ask you."
Rose paused with her hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"May I have the first dance this evening?"
She remembered her talk with Olivia the day before. Henry was supposedly in love with her. Rose's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Why? So you can taunt me some more? I do not dance, Mr. Tilney, especially not for a joke. Go ask your beloved Olivia!" She slammed the door in his face.
Henry was left in confusion, yelling, "I'm not joking!" Then he processed what she had said. "Beloved Olivia?" he wondered out loud.
Chapter 8
Posted on Friday, 7 July 2000, at 7 : 49 p.m.
One of Elizabeth Darcy's favorite past times was walking and conversing with her only daughter. Whatever Olivia's faults, and Elizabeth knew there were quite a few, she had proved a valuable companion. Like herself, Olivia was a witty shrewd reader of character.
"What do you think of Rose?" Elizabeth asked.
"Rose's personality is not an easy one to assess, Mamma. She keeps very much to herself, talking only when necessary. I'd say that Rose is very reliant on herself and does not feel the need for other people."
"Everyone, no matter how self-reliant, needs other people, Livvy. Please promise to try and make friends with the girl."
"But of course, Mamma," Olivia replied dutifully, without enthusiasm. Like her cousin she felt little need for the companionship of her peers, unless it was that of the other sex. Olivia was too sophisticated to be called a coquette, but she often pushed the borders. She liked making hapless boys fall madly in love with her. It was her favorite hobby, and one which vexed her parents greatly.
"Your Aunt Heighton has sent Rose to us partly with the intention of introducing her to, shall we say, suitable acquaintances of the other sex . Can you think of anyone in particular to whom we should introduce her?"
Olivia thought for a moment. "I really don't think any young men of our acquaintance would quite do for Rose. I mean, certainly she is beautiful, and possessed of a sizable dowry, but aside from that I can think of little to recommend her."
Lizzy laughed. It was obvious that her daughter was fearing competition. "I think you will find, my dear, that many men need no other charms than those of fortune and beauty to fall in love. Happily, your father needed other arts and allurements to sway his heart. For I was but tolerably handsome and with no fortune to speak of.
"But, I suppose the best course of action would be to let Rose choose to fall in love or not by herself. I am no matchmaker like my friend Mrs. Knightley. Perhaps, if the situation seems hopeless, we should have her come for a visit!" Mother and daughter laughed at the mental image of Mrs. Knightley interviewing all of Derbyshire's eligible bachelors and then trying to convince Rose that the chosen one was really the right man for her.
The Darcy women were interuppted by the appearance of Henry Tilney. "Hello, Henry!" Elizabeth greeted. "Come walk with us."
Henry bowed and said, "Oh no, Aunt! I would not disturb such a picturesque scene for all the world. I simply need to ask my cousin something."
Olivia shot her mother a knowing glance and sauntered over to him. "Yes, Henry?"
"Livvy, in the unlikely chance that your dance card isn't already filled, may I have the honor of the first dance?" Henry asked.
Olivia smiled smugly. "How could I refuse my cousin anything? Of course you may."
Henry bowed again. "Thank you." He started to walk away then paused with a questioning look. "Livvy..." he started.
"Yes, Henry?"
He looked at her for a moment then shrugged. "Nevermind," he finished and walked away.
Once he was out of hearing distance Olivia turned to her mother. "I told you Mamma. I told you he was in love with me, unfortunate boy. His suit is hopeless, of course. I couldn't care two figs about Henry outside of the love one naturally feels for a cousin."
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. She was almost positive that Henry couldn't care two figs for Olivia either in that respect. Her daughter could not function if she didn't think herself admired by all. All she said was, "Come, Livs. We must get dressed."
Chapter 9
Rose had to admit to herself that the girl she saw in the mirror was ravishing. And she could take none of the credit. She had fought her maid, Beth, every step of the way. When Beth had pulled out her best green silk gown, Rose had suggested her gray muslin dress, three years out of fashion. When the maid had fetched her new ivory slippers, Rose had claimed that her old, stained pair would serve just as well. And when she started arranging her hair with ribbons and flowers, Rose stated that she liked it in a bun best. At each protest Beth would roll her eyes and say in her French accent, "Now, Mademoiselle, you know that Bette knows best."
There was no arguing with Beth. The hiring of her maid had been in honor of her sixteenth birthday and after two years she had earned the honor of being the only person that Rose let order her around. The final result was a dress that matched the color of her eyes and fit her figure perfectly. The ivory trim was exactly the same shade as her pristine slippers and the ribbons twined in her golden locks. Her hair bounced in curls right above her bare shoulders. Around her neck was a narrow golden chain from which hung an emerald and pearl pendant. "I'm beautiful..." Rose whispered. She had never been as finely arrayed before.
Beth simply said, "You'll do," but there was a smile on her lips.
When Rose went downstairs she found everyone but Olivia and Mr. Tilney waiting. The Darcy boys looked very handsome, though uncomfortable, while Col. Tilney and Mr. Darcy looked as if they had been born in formal wear. Neither her aunt nor Mrs. Tilney looked old enough to have children attending a ball. Mrs. Darcy was in red velvet and Mrs. Tilney in yellow silk. The Miss Tilneys were not any less silly for their evening dress, rather thy were giggling even more from excitement. Mr. Tilney came down next, and Rose had to admit that he was a very handsome man. She comforted herself with the thought that his appearance had no effect on his character, which she knew to be severely malformed. After a few words with his sisters he approached her.
"You look lovely, Miss Heighton. I'm sure you will be plagued with partners even though you don't know how to dance."
"I never said I didn't know how to dance, you fool. I said I don't dance. I won't dance," Rose explained with an acid tone.
"But surely-" he began and was interrupted by Olivia's dramatic entrance.
Their mutual cousin was costumed in a lush pink satin gown of the most recent fashion. Her black hair was styled elegantly high on her head. Her pale cheeks were flushed with color and her fine eyes were sparkling. Olivia's bare shoulders were wrapped in a mist of gold gauze. As she had for Henry, Rose momentarily set aside her dislike for her cousin to admire her person. Olivia, at this moment, was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Small wonder that Mr. Tilney was in love with her.
Her audience captivated, Olivia said regally, "Well, if everyone is ready, I suggest that we be off." Mr. Darcy sent one of the servants to get the carriages and soon the entire Pemberley party was stuffed into their barouches and on their way to Chatham Manor, home of the Lawson family.
Chapter 10
Sir Stephen Luhman surveyed the crowd in the Lawson's ballroom with the expert eye of a connoisseur. And he was a connoisseur, a connoisseur of women. He reckoned that he knew of almost every wealthy girl in the kingdom. The handsome baronet had been known to make ladies swoon with the raising of an eyebrow, or with a shake of the head. Members of Sir Stephen's disreputable London set called him "Killer" for the ease with which he broke ladies' hearts. His town friends were still in London, however, and in the country Sir Stephen played the role of respectable baronet. He never attended a ball or party without an ulterior motive--to find a rich young wife to replenish the Luhman fortune, depleted after generations of sporting young men. Already, he had quite a collection of women. From Surrey to Glouchestershire, Sir Stephen had a candidate for marriage in almost every county. Tonight was his night to conquer Derbyshire.
His speculative gaze swept from lady to lady. He dismissed most as too poor, and narrowed his quest to just two of the ball's young ladies. First was Miss Olivia Darcy. He ran through the mental file he had compiled of her. Age: Eighteen; Height: 5'2"; Parents: Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth (nee Bennet) Darcy; Fortune: forty thousand pounds. Miss Darcy, in beauty and fortune, would be an appealing choice. However, Sir Stephen knew better than to meddle with the daughter of Fitzwilliam Darcy. The other choice was Miss Rose Heighton of London. Age: Eighteen (almost nineteen); Height: 5'7"; Parents: Elliot and Mary (nee Bennet) Heighton; Fortune: thirty-five thousand pounds. For his purposes Miss Heighton was perfect. Rich, young, beautiful, and parents far, far away. He smiled with anticipation of the hunt and planned his method of introduction.
As soon as Rose went through the reception line and was introduced and fawned over by a sufficient number of the Darcys' acquaintance she got herself a glass of punch and found a seat. The first dance was starting and she could pick out Olivia and Henry gliding across the floor, a very handsome couple. Catherine and Eleanor were dancing with Charles and Bennet (both of whom Rose had politely declined a first dance with) respectively. Rose found for once that her seat on the side was quite boring. At the parties she had attended with her parents conversation took precedence over dancing. Her ears were filled with the waltz and the rustling of full silk skirts, and her feet tapped in rhythm, quite against her will. Strauss' swaying melody and the seclusion of her shadowy seat in the corner made conditions ideal for daydreaming, and Rose's mind slowly drifted away. Her thoughts were so far removed from her present situation, that when her shoulder received a tap, she jumped from her seat. "What?" she cried, turning around to see a young man she was unfamiliar with.
The man smiled smoothly, showing perfect white teeth. His hair and eyes were the same shade of dark brown, and his grin had betrayed a dimple. Rose thought him very handsome. He held up a white handkerchief and replied, "Excuse me, but did you drop this?"
Rose took up the piece of lacy cloth and recognized as her own, her initials were embroidered in the corner. "Yes, thank you. I have no idea when or how I dropped it, though."
"Oh, I always find that these sorts of things have a habit of getting away from a person."
"Yes, I suppose they do," Rose agreed. "Thank you again." She said the last in a tone of dismissal.
The young man did not leave, however. Rather he took the handkerchief back from her fingers, and read her initials. "R-M-H. Pardon me, Miss H., for disobeying convention's rules and introducing myself to you. My name is Sir Stephen Luhman. May I ask what the R-M-H stand for? That is if you aren't too scandalized."
Rose smiled back at him. "I have never been to conventional myself, Sir Stephen. I am Miss Rose Heighton. The M stands for Mary, by the way." She held out her hand and he bowed low over it in a very formal fashion.
"Miss Heighton, if you aren't otherwise engaged, would you do the honor of giving me the next dance?"
Rose paused before replying. She had come to Chatham Manor with no intention of dancing. But now that she was there with no-one to talk to, she had no choice but to reconsider. Besides, she found herself liking Sir Stephen. He was rather gallant, and very handsome, indeed. "I am not otherwise engaged, Sir. I would like to dance very much."
Sir Stephen flashed his dimple in response and held out his arm. At that moment Henry walked up to them. "Miss Heighton," he said, looking at Sir Stephen warily, "I came to see if you would dance with me now."
"Mr. Tilney, I would not dance with you even if you had asked more graciously. And besides, I'm already engaged to dance with Sir Stephen." With that she took the baronet's arm and turned with a flounce. It was quite possibly the very first time she had flounced in her life.
Sir Stephen was a wonderful dancer. He held her not too tight and not too loose. He talked a little, but not too much. In his arms she suddenly appreciated the ambiance of the room. The candle-glow was warm rather than dim, the ice sculptures were not melting--they were glistening. And the scent of the scent of the wilting flowers was heady, not heavy. She would have been happy to dance all night with him, and he with her, or so he said, except it would be highly improper. So, Rose and Sir Stephen had to content themselves with a mere two dances. Rose also danced with her two Darcy cousins, for she could no longer hide behind the excuse of feeling no inclination to dance. Charles, she found, was a skilled dancer, though one with little conversation. Bennet was filled with conversation and was very energetic. Unfortunately, he had the unhappy habit of stepping on his partner's toes, so a second dance was declined in concern for her slippers. Rose would not, however, dance with Mr. Tilney, to his extreme irritation.
Rose left Chatham Manor with Sir Stephen's promise to call on the ladies of Pemberley. Olivia left with the satisfaction of being the most admired lady at the ball. Eleanor and Catherine never lacked a partner, and almost everyone had agreed that Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Tilney looked far too young to have grown children. It was acknowledged by the entire Pemberley party, excepting Henry, to have been a most successful evening.
Chapter 11
Posted on Wednesday, 12 July 2000, at 10 : 55 p.m.
The next morning Rose woke early for the morning after the ball. After writing a letter to her parents she headed down to her favorite room in Pemberley, the library. She still hadn't finished Udolpho, because she was too embarrassed to read it in public. What would people think if they saw the dignified, educated, intelligent Rose Heighton reading a gothic thriller? Soon after sitting down she was immersed in the plots and intrigues surrounding Emily and the noble Valancourt. Sir Stephen, Rose thought, was quite like Valancourt. The door creaking open alerted her of someone else's presence. She quickly covered Mrs. Radcliffe's masterpiece with the first book she could find and looked at the pages without actually reading. It was no surprise, this time, that the intruder was Henry Tilney.
"Good morning Miss Heighton," he said in his customarily cheery tone. "What are you reading? The Vindication of the Rights of Woman. My, my, but your stockings are a lovely shade of blue today."
Sometime after their last sally Rose had decided that the best weapon to use against Mr. Tilney would be silence. She shut the book and started to leave. She stopped, however, when she read the name of the author whose book he was carrying.
"Pray, what are you reading, Mr. Tilney?"
"The Forgotten Lady by Miss Rose Templeton. Are you acquainted with her work?"
Rose Templeton! That was her mother's pen name. Rose replied, "Ah, no. Do you like her books?"
Henry was energetic in his response. "Like them?" he replied. "Miss Templeton has become my favorite author of late. Her works combine mystery, humor, intelligence-" he paused and grinned at her, "romance. I highly recommend them."
Well, this was something! Rose had never suspected that a man such as Mr. Tilney would enjoy her mother's works. Perhaps he wasn't as much of a fool as she thought he was.
Henry reached up to replace the book in the "T" section. While doing so his hand brushed against a precariously balanced volume of Terence's plays. The heavy tome landed square on his head. Rose gasped, but when it was clear that Henry was not injured she could hardly keep from laughing. Henry picked up the volume and stared at in an accusing way, as if asking it how it dared to fall on his head. Rose bit her lip and head her face behind The Vindication. After setting things back in order he walked over to her and took the book from her hands.
He asked mockingly, "But wait, what light in yonder Rose's eye breaks? It is amusement and I am the cause. I have nearly got you, Miss Heighton."
"Don't misquote Shakespeare at me. It gives me a headache," Rose replied, her voice a bit more strained than usual, "And you'll do no such thing."
"Then why are you biting your lip?"
"Nasty habit," she answered on her way out the door.
Henry, smelling victory, rubbed his wounded head thoughtfully.
Rose's missive had been long awaited in the Heighton home. Father and mother both read over it intently.
June 22, 18--
Dear Father and Mother,
I'm sorry it had taken so long for me to write. My Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins have certainly kept me busy. I hope this letter finds my dear parents well.
You might be surprised to learn that I am not the only guest at Pemberley right now. Also visiting are the Tilneys. Mrs. Tilney is Mr. Darcy's sister. She and her husband the Colonel have three children; Henry, Catherine, and Eleanor. Catherine and Eleanor are twins and are extremely silly. My Cousin Olivia, of whom you had such great hopes, Mother, is equally silly. Well, not silly, exactly--she's very dignified. But she is arrogant and flirtatious and not likely to become my intimate friend. Now I must tell you about Mr. Tilney. He is the most impertinant, rude, insufferable man I have ever met. We have argued every single day since my arrival at Pemberley. He calls me names, insults me, follows me around, and then he has the audicity to ask me for the first dance at the Lawson's ball. Oh! You don't know about the Lawson's ball yet. I shall tell you directly.
Last night I went to a ball hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Lawson at their estate, Chatham Manor. The Manor is the nearest estate to Pemberley. I wore my new green dress, and Beth dressed my hair beautifully. I looked very fine indeed. At first I didn't have a good time at all, I was all alone without a partner. But then the most wondeful thing happened! I met the most interesting young man, Sir Stephan Luhman. Sir Stephen is a baronet with an estate in--oh--I don't know where it is. Anyway, he asked me to dance and it was wonderful. Then I danced with my cousin Charles, then Sir Stephen again, and then Bennet. I would have danced with Sir Stephen again, but it would have been highly improper. Mr. Tilney kept asking me to dance, and I kept refusing him. I know you'll think I'm rude, but that's because you've never met him. He's horrible, I assure you. He compared me to Katharina in The Taming of the Shrew. Horrid, quite horrid. He's says that I'm too serious and that he is going to make me laugh. I will not give him the satisfaction.
Well, I will end this letter so you don't have to spend my whole dowry on postage. I am looking foward to seeing you again, but since I am engaged at Pemberley for at least two more months I will have to content myself with letters from you. Write to me soon!
Your loving daughter,
Rose
Mary looked up from her daughter's letter to catch her husband's eye. "What do think?" she asked.
Elliot responded, "I think we had best look into this Sir Stephen Luhman character. Don't you agree?"
"No, El, I don't. I think our time would be much better spent investigating Mr. Henry Tilney."
"But Rose despises him!"
"Exactly. Do you remember, Elliot, how much I once despised you?"
Understanding dawned over his face. "Oh yes, I see. I married a genius."
"Either that or I married a fool," Mary said dryly.
"At least I'm handsome!"
"You know what you are? Horrid, quite horrid!" she said in a good imitation of her daughter's voice.
Chapter 12
As promised, Sir Stephen did call at Pemberley. This call was, of course, returned by Pemberley's ladies. The baronet was staying with the Lawsons, Mr. Lawson and he had been good friends at Cambridge. The day that the women called was particulary fine, and Mrs. Lawson had suggested a stroll through the Manor's lovely gardens.
By accident or art Rose and Sir Stephen found themselves separated from the rest of the party. They were in the rose garden and everyone else was trying to find their way through the maze. Rose bent over a rosebush and deeply inhaled. "Mmmm," she sighed happily.
Sir Stephen looked at her and said, "Perfect."
"What's perfect?"
"You."
"I beg your pardon?" Rose laughed with a blush.
"I don't know how to say it. It's just...well look at the roses. They are perfect--full and fragrant, every color of the rainbow, and yet you put everyone of them to shame. See this yellow, it's nothing compared to your hair. Your lips are redder than this one. You are more innocent than the white blossoms, and the blush that is all over your cheeks is pinker than any of Mrs. Lawson's prized flowers. Do you understand?"
Rose couldn't speak. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She simply stared at him. He stepped nearer and nearer till his lips were only inches away from her. For one nerve-racking moment she was sure that he was going to kiss her. He didn't. Instead he plucked a deep red bud off it's stem and slipped it in her hair. Then he place her arm inside his and said, "I suppose we should find the others."
"Yes," Rose agreed weakly.
With all of the visiting going on between the two estates Mrs. Darcy felt it was only proper to invite the inhabitants of Chatham Manor to a dinner. In addition she decided to ask the Bingleys who lived not thirty miles away. Elizabeth never felt confident in the role of hostess. Oh, once her guests arrived she was fine, but the planning! That was a different story. Before the unappealing task of planning the menu she decided to arrange who would escort who to dinner, and wear to seat everyone. That Fitzwilliam would walk in with Mrs. Lawson, and she with Sir Stephen was easy. Mr. Lawson must come next with Jane, and Charles with Olivia made sense, but the rest was a muddle. Should Charles escort Rose or Eleanor? Should Henry come before or after Bennet. She was relieved that none of Jane's children could come. It would only make things more difficult. She was granted a break from her arduous task when Henry walked into her office.
"How is my favorite Aunt this morning?" he asked.
Elizabeth laughed. "What do you want Henry?"
"You are so perceptive, Aunt Darcy, incredible. I wanted to know if you had arranged the seating for dinner tommorow night?"
Elizabeth groaned, "I thought that you were going to give me a break! I was just working on it, and it's a huge headache. But why do you ask?"
"Well, I was wondering, could it be possible for you to seat Rose next to me? Only if it's not too difficult, of course."
She peered at him, "I can do that. But why, or shouldn't I ask?"
Henry gave her his familiar grin. "You probably don't want to know."
"I didn't think so."
Henry kissed the top of his aunt's head and left her to her task. Mutton or pork roast? Or both? It was all a mystery.
Chapter 13
Posted on Wednesday, 19 July 2000
In preparation for her aunt's dinner party Rose did an unprecedented thing--she let Beth make her as beautiful as she could without a struggle. Rose had never before felt the need to impress anyone. But the thought of Sir Stephen had a powerful effect on her. She felt nervous and afraid, happy and excited all at once. Was this love? Rose supposed it could be. She knew from her books that love was a very strange and mysterious thing, but her books never described the symptoms.
"Voila!" Beth cried as she put the last sprig of flowers in her hair.
Rose stood up and looked in the mirror with approval. She was wearing ice-blue satin with thin silver pinstripes. The gown had small capped sleeves and a fashionable square neckline. Her hair was twisted elaborately on the back of her head, decorated with tiny white and blue flowers. She held out her arms for Beth to put on the long, spotless white gloves and descended to the drawing room.
Once there she was introduced to four people of the Darcy's acquaintance that had previously been unknown to her. Mrs. Darcy, in her customary anxiety over dinner plans, had invited these neighbors for fear that sixteen people wasn't a large enough party. Mr. and Mrs. Baxter were of Gregory House, just seven miles away. With them was Mrs. Baxter's much older sister, Miss Wainwright-Foster, a spinster who was forced to be a permanent guest in the homes of her relatives. The last of the four was Admiral Hutton, an elderly bachelor who after helping defeat the Monster at Trafalgar settled down for a quiet country life at Heath Park, eleven miles from Pemberley.
Rose knew that it wasn't likely for Sir Stephen to take her into dinner, he being one of the highest ranking men present, but her disappointment was great when she discovered her escort was to be Mr. Tilney. When dinner was announced at eight he held out his arm jauntily and said, "I think it's absolutely splendid that you're my partner. What conversation we shall have! We don't talk nearly enough."
Rose rolled her eyes and replied, "I only wish that there weren't going to be eighteen other people dining with us--then I could have your undivided attention."
They were seated across from Bennet and Miss Wainwright-Foster. For such an impressive name, the lady was amazingly tiny. Even Olivia towered over her, and she was much to thin. Her hair was a fading auburn, and her gray eyes were particularly bright. Since Bennet's attention was engaged by Eleanor on his other side, Mr. Tilney made sure to include Miss Wainwright-Foster in conversation. Rose was very sorry for this, not for any dislike of the old maid, but for fear that Henry's inquiries would make her laugh.
At the beginning of dinner Henry began conversation with, "Miss Wainwright-Foster, what a lovely pattern of muslin you have on."
The old woman's eyes lit up. "Do you appreciate a good muslin, young man? I fear that in this generation muslin isn't as valued as it should be."
Henry shook his head, "It's a shame, isn't it. However, none of the Tilney family shall forget about muslin. Yours is Indian isn't it? About nine shillings a yard?"
"Remarkable!" The lady cackled. "You have it exactly right."
"And by the look of it, it shan't fray."
Rose had to cover her mouth with her napkin, else Henry would see that she was laughing. When she got control of herself she asked, "How did you become such an expert, sir?"
He could see the traces of amusement in her eyes and shot her a triumphant look. "My Uncle Tilney taught me. Now my sisters have me pick out all of their muslin. Don't you, Eleanor?" he asked, raising his voice.
His sister responded by saying, "You are so odd, Henry," and then resumed conversation with Bennet.
Rose, against her will, desired to meet this oft-mentioned Uncle Tilney. He seemed to be quite a man.
Soon talking with Miss Wainwright-Foster became impossible, because her mouth was always full. Rose had no idea how such a little woman could eat so much, or how a woman who ate so much could be so little. She had every dish of every course, often asking for seconds. All the while, Henry was solicitously making sure she had enough. When, in the third and final course, the spinster turned to a servant and said, "Give me another slice of mincemeat, love. And a bit more of that fine pudding there. That's a dearie," and Henry responded by topping off her fourth glass of wine and saying, "Make that piece a little bigger, Jenny. We can't have the lady going hungry!" Rose completely lost it. Her eyes were watering, her shoulders were shaking, and the tablecloth suddenly became very interesting.
Mr. Tilney leaned over, "You're laughing, Miss Heighton."
Rose gasped for breath. She whispered, "If I am it's not because of you. Miss Wainwright-Foster is so amusing!"
"Mmm-hmm. Since one of my best qualities is sportsmanship, I'll believe you. But I'm warning you--be careful. Be very careful.
Rose was prevented from making any response when the sound of Olivia's silvery laughter combined with Sir Stephen's smooth bass reached her ears. She peered down the table to see them smiling at each other, talking freely. Rose felt an odd burning feeling in her stomach begin to work its way up to her throat. She had never been jealous over a gentleman before. It was quite an odd sensation, and she was half-ashamed to admit that she was envious. But really, it wasn't fair! Olivia could have man she wanted, why did she have to take Sir Stephen. Rose glanced down the table again, this time catching the baronet's eye. The expression in his gaze was so intense that it quite took away any fears she had over losing his admiration. Olivia, on the other hand, showed no intention of giving up the flirtation. Intercepting some of what passed between her cousin and her new favorite she bit her lip, then turned to him calling brightly, "Oh, Sir Stephen..." Rose tuned Olivia's chirping out. She was now sure that no matter what Miss Darcy might try, Sir Stephen's heart was her own.
As was customary the gentlemen separated themselves from the ladies after dinner. The women settled in the music room, making polite conversation, awaiting the gentlemen's return. Rose positioned herself on her favorite settee, Olivia sat conveniently by the piano, for she knew that she would be asked to play. When the men joined them they smelled vaguely of cigars and brandy. To Rose's dismay Mr. Tilney immediately took the seat on the sofa next to her. The seat she had been mentally saving for Sir Stephen. That gentleman was looking at the piano admiringly. "What an instrument!" he exclaimed. "Should Miss Heighton know any, I should not say nay to a duet."
Rose shook her head, "I am sorry, sir. I am not in the least musical."
Olivia leapt at the opportunity. "I should be glad to sing with you. 'Silent Worship', perhaps?"
Sir Stephen shook his head. "I am sorry, Miss Darcy, my throat feels a bit raw. I do not think I will sing after all." Olivia turned scarlet and stared at her fingers on the keys in embarrassment.
An uncomfortable silence followed in which Mr. Tilney whispered to Rose, "That was badly done."
Rose glared at him. "Why don't you sing with her then, if you feel so sorry for her?" she demanded.
Henry's expression was unusually grave. "I have little need to exhibit myself like a lady-" he began, then stopped. He regarded her seriously, then said, "How can you be so callous, Rose? I had thought that, however much you enjoy arguing, you were at least sensible to the feelings of others. It pains me greatly to learn differently."
Now it was Rose's turn to blush. Regardless of how much Mr. Tilney angered her she still wanted his respect. In fact, strangely enough, out of all the people in the room, his opinion mattered the most to her.
Excluding Sir Stephen, of course. His opinion, too, was important. But no matter how much that gentleman flattered and tried to please her throughout the rest of the evening, it did not erase the uneasiness that Henry's words had created.
Chapter 14
Posted on Wednesday, 26 July 2000
The next morning Rose took especial care to avoid Henry's usual haunts. That meant no breakfast and no library. She hid herself in the last place she thought he would look for her--in the music room with the rest of the ladies. Unfortunately the rest of the ladies weren't there. Only Olivia who spent equal time shooting wicked glares at Rose and gazing forlornly at the piano. Also unfortunate for Rose was the fact that Henry didn't give up easily. He was determined to talk to her, and so he found her.
He walked in the room and interrupted Olivia pounding out some concerto. His eyes searched the room until they met hers. "Miss Heighton," he said, sounding so serious, "may I talk to you?"
Rose saw no way of avoiding it. Sooner or later she would have to meet Mr. Tilney and his reproachful stare. She stood up and joined him in the hall. Rose wanted to say that she was sorry, that she wasn't callous, that she was sensible of other people's feelings. But all she said was, "What?"
"I need your help."
Rose's brow raised. No accusations? He wanted a favor?
Henry continued, "You see, I have this lady friend."
At this her brow raised even higher. "I see," she said icily. "I'm sorry Mr. Tilney, I don't think I can give you any help with your lady friends."
He sighed. "Why must you always misunderstand me? She's not that sort of lady friend. Nan Carter is one of Darcy's tenants. Her husband's in jail- Listen, I don't have time to explain now, but you once told me you were interested in charity. Here's your chance. Change your clothes and meet me at the stables in thirty minutes. All right?"
Rose remembered that conversation. She had lied and told him that her burning desire in life was to make the world a kinder, happier place. And though it should be, it just wasn't true. She was entirely too selfish and concerned with her own happiness. However, she couldn't let him know that. Especially after the night before. "I'll be there," she answered.
Henry allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Good. Wear something practical."
Rose had Beth change her into the most practical thing she owned, a plain brown cotton dress. She exchanged her delicate slippers for sturdy boots and her slightly elaborate hairstyle for a simple bun.
Beth looked at her severely. "That is not what I would wear, madam, for a carriage ride with a handsome young man. Perhaps the yellow gown..."
Rose merely shook her head at her and went to join Henry at the stables.
Henry was waiting by a small trap pulled by a gray mare. He helped her up and then climbed up himself and took the reigns. He turned to her and said, "We'll be going about three miles. We could walk, but..." After this he was silent for a few moments. Then he began to explain his acquaintance with Mrs. Carter.
"I met Nan when we first arrived at Pemberley, about a month ago. Like I said, she's one of Darcy's tenants. Her husband has been in jail for seven months now. He had been involved in a tavern brawl in which a man was seriously injured. Anyway, Nan has four children and one on the way with no one to help her with the upkeep of her house and family. Of course, Darcy gives her money, but a pound here and there isn't going to mend the fence, or change the baby's nappies. I started helping out (mending that fence, for one thing) and got to respect Nan and grow fond of her children. I go there quite often now.
"The reason I need you is, well, Nan's quite proud in her way. She'll accept money from Darcy because she's his tenant and that's the way of things, but she won't take it from me. And any money Darcy sends her she spends on her children. She's practically in rags. I thought, maybe, if you befriended her, she would accept some old dresses of yours, shoes, shawls, that sort of thing. Also, maybe you could help her in the house. I'm lost when it comes to that sort of thing."
Rose secretly admired Henry's generosity. He didn't wave money in her face, but actually gave her some of his time, and got personally involved. Another sign that he wasn't the exasperating fool she had pinned him to be. "I'll help in any way I can," she said softly.
The trap pulled up in front of a small, but tidy cottage. Before he helped her out he asked, "Can we leave Mr. Tilney and Miss Heighton behind? I think Henry and Rose will be much more helpful."
It was an odd thing to say, but Rose understood it. "Of course, Henry."
She was rewarded by another smile, this time a larger one. He called out, "Nan! Peter! Sally! Harry! I've brought a visitor!"
A cluster of red-headed children burst out of the house yelling, "'Mr. Henry! Mr. Henry!" They jumped up on him and dangled from his shoulders. A woman carrying a small child came out of the house. "Children!" she admonished, "Don't jump on Mr. Henry."
She joined them and looked at Rose shyly. "Rose Heighton, meet Anne Carter," Henry introduced.
Nan Carter was younger than Rose had expected. She had once been very pretty, that much was clear, with long auburn hair and smoky grey eyes. But the hard life she led had taken a toll on her. The hair was limp and disorderly, the eyes had large dark smudges underneath. She was entirely too thin, her emaciated body contrasted sharply with her swelling belly.
"Well," Henry continued, "I'm going to see how your well is working. Come with me, Pete, you can help."
Nan turned to Rose and said softly, "Will you come in?"
Rose followed her inside the little hut. It was dark and cramped, but there was something bubbling over the fire and it gave an unlikely atmosphere of hominess. When she turned to Nan and said, "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Carter," it was with sincerity.
"Please call me Nan."
"Then you must call me Rose."
Nan looked shocked, "I couldn't, Miss Heighton!"
"All right, Mrs. Carter, if you insist."
She smiled slightly, "Rose it shall be."
"Good!" Suddenly the pot over the fire began smoking and Nan jumped up, baby in tow, to stir it. "Oh, let me!" Rose exclaimed.
Nan looked shocked again. "Oh no, miss! I couldn't let you do my housework for me."
Rose was beginning to see what Henry meant when he said she was proud.
"Well, let me hold the baby, then. I love babies. What's her name?"
The woman smiled with a mother's gratification, "Lucy," she replied and handed the child to her. Rose had found the way to Nan's heart and they spent over an hour dandling the baby, time which Rose used to convince her to take some very ill-fitting garments from her. Rose made a note to have Beth shorten the hems of a couple of her gowns.
Their pleasant chat was interrupted by a shout from Henry. Both woman ran outside.
Somehow Henry had fallen into a small, scummy pond. Sally and Peter were giggling at him suspiciously. He clambered out of the pond with his shirt stained green, dripping water. "You rotten kids!" he roared, but it was clear he wasn't serious. The children laughed even harder.
Seeing pond weeds adorning Henry's head, and a waterbug looking confused on his shoulder, Rose couldn't help it. She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Days worth of repressed laughter bubbled to the surface and she found herself gasping for air. Henry stopped squeezing his shirt dry to revel in the sound. "You laughed!" he cried and began running towards her. Rose had no intention of getting wet by second-hand pond water and also began running. "Goodbye, Nan!" Henry called over his shoulder and continued the chase.
Soon Henry's longer legs overtook her. She was trapped between him and the carriage. He put his arms on either side of her, blocking any way of escape. Rose had never been so close to a dripping wet man before.
"Oh, Rose," he said in a sing-song voice.
"Oh, Henry," she mimicked him.
"I made you laugh."
"Do you want a prize?"
"Actually, I do."
Rose rolled her eyes. "What do I have that Mr. Henry Tilney would want."
Henry's expression turned serious. "You."
"What?" Rose gasped.
"You heard me. I want you."
Chapter 15
Posted on Sunday, 30 July 2000
Rose repeated, "What?" breathlessly. She couldn't believe her ears.
Henry said slowly, "I. Want. You. You know, I want you to be my friend."
Her heart started beating again. "Oh, I see."
"I figure that it's time to bury the hatchet. Why should we always be fighting when we have so many things in common? Love of books, superior intelligence..."
Rose laughed, "At least one of us does." Then she said very formally, "I would like to be your friend, Henry. But you must be nice to me now."
"I've always been nice. You, on the other hand..." Rose gave him her fiercest expression. "Come on, let's shake on it." Rose shyly stuck out her hand, and thus a rather unpredictable alliance was formed.
The next couple of weeks flew by. Mornings were spent with Henry at the Carter house, and most afternoons were occupied by Sir Stephen, who was becoming a fixture at Pemberley. July 27 brought Rose's nineteenth birthday. She hadn't told anyone about it and wasn't expecting to be greeted at breakfast with the entire household and a table stacked with gifts.
Her parents had sent her a pair of gem incrusted combs, accompanied by a letter. Her aunt and uncle gave her a length of fine silk, the Tilneys a fan to match. Rose was overwhelmed that these people, who she had to admit she hadn't been overly friendly to, had gone out of their way to make her feel special. It made her feel that she should attempt to open up a little more. She had opened up to Henry, and that had proven to be far from disastrous.
Henry, her first and only real friend, was wonderful. He was like the big brother she supposed she should have always wished for but didn't till she found out how great an older brother could be. Henry, himself, didn't let her birthday go unobserved. Catching her in the hall after breakfast he rather shyly handed her a wrapped package.
Rose ran her hands over the smooth, firm surface that was obviously a book. She grinned at him (she had gotten to like grinning) and said, "Ooh, let me guess! A silver tea set!"
Henry groaned and responded with a gruff, "Just open it."
Rose deftly untied the string binding to reveal a slim, leather-bound volume. She traced the gold-leaf script on the spine which pronounced it to be "The Taming of the Shrew, a Comedy by William Shakespeare". She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "I suppose there is some special meaning to this?"
"In honor of one of our first confrontations. And I did tame you, my darling Katharina. I didn't even have to beat or starve you into submission," he explained, hazel eyes dancing.
"We'll see how submissive I am," she retaliated, her foot poised and ready to give him a hearty kick in the shins.
Henry trembled in mock-fear, "I surrender! I surrender! It is you who have tamed me!"
Rose smiled smugly, "I thought so." Impulsively she leaned over and kissed his cheek, "Thank you, Henry, you're the best brother an only child could have!" Then realizing she had kissed a man she turned crimson and made ready to flee to her room. Her escape route was blocked by a maid carrying a huge bouquet of hothouse perfect roses.
"Pardon me, miss," came Jenny's voice muffled from behind the flowers, "but these just come for you."
"Oh!" Rose exclaimed. "Put them on that table there." Jenny followed instructions and set the vase on a small table next to Henry. Rose plucked a card out from the side.
"Let me guess," Henry said, "they're from-"
"You can go, Jenny," Rose quickly interrupted. The last thing she wanted was all the servants gossiping about her. Once the maid was out of earshot she said, "It doesn't say who they're from." It was true. The card read "For the most beautiful Rose of all on her birthday". But she knew, as Henry most likely did that they were from Sir Stephen. But how had he known? She breathed in their sweet scent. The roses were in all the colors of the rainbow. It made her think of that day in the Lawson's garden. She blushed at the memory. "If you'll excuse me, Henry, I think I'll take these to my room."
Henry shrugged and watched her go, the perfume of the roses lingering in the hall. He suddenly felt very irritable. Brother indeed!
Chapter 16
Posted on Sunday, 30 July 2000
One of the few ways Rose and Henry could be sure that Nan ate a proper meal was to bring a picnic. Often she would go hungry to make sure her children had enough. Not so when Pemberley's cook packed a meal. Cook always packed enough for a small army. Both Rose and Henry had a basket to carry. After spreading out a blanket they pulled out roast chicken and cold ham, fresh fruit, a wide variety of breads with an assortment of jams. There were even raspberry tarts accompanied by a jar of cream. The Carter children gathered around the feast happily. However filling their daily porridge was, it didn't taste very good. Nan came out a moment after the children, and as soon as she drew near enough Rose could see a new gleam in her eyes. An unfamiliar smile played on her lips.
She wasted no time in telling her good news. "My Pete's coming home in three days!" she cried joyfully.
"What?!" Henry and Rose asked in unison.
"They're letting him out. He'll be home before the baby's born!"
They congratulated her sincerely. They knew how much Nan had missed her husband while he was in jail. And no child should grow up without a father.
"I know I won't need any help when my Pete comes back," Nan said. "But...but will you come and visit every now and then? I'm sure Pete would love to meet you, and he's a good person, you'd never believe that anyone would put him in jail. He's just got a temper when he's had too much to drink. Everyone makes mistakes," she said this last somewhat defensively.
"Of course," Henry assured her. "And Rose and I will continue to visit as long as we're here."
Nan was practically dancing with happiness, despite her rather ungainly figure. The feeling spread, and the afternoon felt like a holiday. When Henry and Rose returned to Pemberley they were full of high spirits. Henry felt so generous that when he saw Olivia sitting alone and bored in the music room, he asked her to take a walk in the garden with him.
Rose sank onto a settee feeling content. Nan was getting her husband back, Henry was her friend, and Sir Stephen had sent her flowers for her birthday. Everything was right with the world.
She was more than surprised when the man who had so occupied her thoughts of late was announced, disrupting her happy reverie. "Sir Stephen!" she cried. "I was not expecting you!"
"How could I stay away? I didn't see you at all yesterday," he responded in his smooth bass. "Did you have a happy birthday?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you for the flowers."
"Flowers? I didn't send any flowers?" he replied, but he smiled in such a way that Rose knew he was lying.
They sat for a few minutes in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. Finally Sir Stephen said, "Miss Heighton--Rose, this isn't just a social call. I have to tell you something of great importance." He looked at her meaningfully and Rose's heart leapt to her throat. "I know that we haven't known each other long. Most people would say we have been acquainted for a very short time indeed. However, the brevity of our acquaintance has not stopped me from developing a very strong attachment to you." Rose began to feel dizzy. "In fact I am telling the absolute truth when I say that I love you in a most ardent and passionate way. I have never felt this strongly for anyone before. I must ask you, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"
Rose was struck absolutely silent. Her heart was beating wildly, she couldn't breathe, and her head felt like it was on fire. Sir Stephen had just asked her to marry him? Sir Stephen had just asked her to marry him! Rose realized that he was waiting for a reply. Oddly enough, she didn't think about her parents' reaction first. She thought about Henry. Somehow she didn't think he'd approve. But what did that signify? She did not need his permission or approval to fall in love. He certainly hadn't asked for hers in loving Olivia. The only thing that mattered was what she wanted. And looking into Sir Stephen's velvet brown eyes she realized she wanted to say yes very much. She tried to look away, but those eyes held her captive. "Yes," she said softly, "I will marry you."
He smiled slowly, showing his dimples. "You have no idea how happy you have just made me." He rose from his seat and walked over to her on the settee. His hand was just about to close over hers when the door burst open.
"Rose?" Henry said hoarsely. His face looked strained and his hands were trembling.
"Yes, Henry?" Rose replied, wondering how he had such bad timing.
"May I speak to you alone?" He looked at Sir Stephen mistrustfully.
Rose felt defensive for her new fiancé. "Anything you have to say to me can be said to Sir Stephen." She felt slightly guilty about saying this. It sounded like the old Rose talking. But she didn't want to offend Stephen.
Henry didn't rebuke her for her tone. "Fine," he said dully. "I've just spoken with one of Darcy's tenants. Rose, Nan is dead."
Rose couldn't believe it. "Nan...dead?"
"She went into labor almost immediately after we left. "Something went wrong, it all happened so fast. She lost a lot of blood. The baby's dead, too." His voice broke, and Rose could see he was barely repressing sobs.
Heedless of Sir Stephen she jumped up and ran to him, tears running down her face. They held each other tightly. "It isn't fair," Rose whispered. "She was finally happy..."
Henry stroked her hair. "I couldn't help," he said wonderingly. "The one time she really needed my help, I wasn't there." His tears now mixed with Rose's. Both held on to each other as if they needed the support to stay standing.
Sir Stephen watched the pair suspiciously. He would have to move things on quickly, or there would be competition from this Tilney fellow. It wasn't as if he didn't have any other options, there were dozens of girls madly in love with him, but he had grown fond of Rose in his own way. Before he had always admired Olivia Darcy's brand of beauty. Small and slender, with features more commonly found in marble than human flesh. But Rose had grown on him. Her eyes were mirrors that showed her every emotion, her hair was a shade that was rarely seen. He had come to enjoy being on eye-level with her, instead of looking down. And he hadn't failed to notice her softly curved figured which he suspected would mold so perfectly to his lean body. There would be plenty of opportunity to test his theory later. That is if Henry Tilney didn't get in the way.
Chapter 17
Posted on Tuesday, 1 August 2000
Nan was to be buried the day after she died, along with her baby. The vicar, or rather the curate, wouldn't even wait for her husband's release. Henry put on his best suit and prepared to go. Rose wished she could go with him, but woman weren't allowed to go to funerals. The only socially acceptable she could show her grief was by donning her gray mourning gown. They were walking hand in hand to Henry's carriage when Sir Stephen rode up. He looked narrowly at their clasped hands. Something would have to be done about this.
After Rose watched Henry pull away, Sir Stephen took her arm. "Care to take a turn with me in the gardens?" he asked. Rose shrugged in response and allowed herself to be lead away.
They walked in silence until they came upon a small wrought iron bench. He sat down and gestured for her to do the same. When she had made herself comfortable he questioned, "Have you told anyone of our engagement yet?"
Rose shook her head in the negative.
"Good," he replied.
She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Stephen took her hand. "Rose, I made a few inquiries about your friend, Nan Carter." Rose had no idea how Nan and their engagement could be connected. He continued, "I was told that her husband was in jail, but is to be released in a couple days."
"Yes," Rose replied tearfully. "She had been so unhappy until she found out. It doesn't make sense. Why would God do it?"
Stephen stroked her head in consolation. "Mrs. Carter's death made me realize something. Life is fleeting and unpredictable, Rose, and I cannot bear the thought that I might lose you by some twist of fate. Forgive the cliche, but we must live every moment as if it were our last."
"Yes, I agree, Stephen, but what does this have to do with not announcing our engagement?"
"I hope I won't shock you, my dear, but I think we should elope."
"Elope!"
"Why should we wait months to be together? I am ready to become your husband this instant!" He cradled her face in his hands. "Why should we wait when we love each other so much?"
Rose was shocked. "But...but...you must give me time to think, Stephen," she stammered. "I can't run off to Scotland with you without considering all of the ramifications."
The sound of crunching gravel could be heard not to far away so they hastily separated. Stephen whispered, "Of course, my dear. Of course I'll give you time to think about it."
They were soon joined by Olivia, Catherine, and Eleanor. On seeing them together Olivia said sarcastically, "Sir Stephen. And Rose. Alone together. What a surprise."
Stephen stood up and bowed. "Good morning, Miss Darcy, Miss Tilney, Miss Catherine. What a fortunate man am I to be surrounded by the most beautiful ladies in Derbyshire. Nay, the whole country!"
Eleanor and Catherine giggled wildly, and Rose managed a forced chuckle. Olivia eyed the pair of them speculatively.
After visiting a polite time at Pemberley Sir Stephen left, giving Rose time to consider his remarkable proposal. While sitting in the music room with Mrs. Tilney and her aunt the butler brought up the afternoon post. He handed Mrs. Darcy several letters which she exclaimed over happily. Mrs. Tilney received one which she said was from her sister, Catherine Tilney. Rose also got a letter which surprised her since the only people that wrote to her were her parents, and she had just had a letter from them. She looked at the direction. The handwriting was manly and unfamiliar. Her stomach gave an excited lurch. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm going to read my letter in the library."
She practically ran to that room, clutching the missive to her heart. She through herself in a chair and hastily broke the seal. Instead of a letter, the contents were a poem.
O happy hour
When one so debonair
Took life upon her
So gay, so fine, so rare
O shining hair,
Hair of gold!
Naught that is base
Could that heart ever hold.
There is none like her, none.
That forehead with its crown of hair,
And that dark brow
Arched after Iris' bow.
Snow white
Rose red,
Her like
Not among a thousand shall you find her.
Full lips aglow
White teeth a-sparkle
Voice soft and slow
Slender hands and slender side
Throat, all beauty else beside,
So the gods designed her.
A spark of living fire
Down flying from her
Whom above all other
I most desire
Kindled my heart that now in ashes lies.
O thou that Beauty's handmaid art,
If thou wilt have no pity on my smart
A living man now dies.
O tender Phyllis,
If thou wilt have no care
For my despair,
Never shall my heart be still
For never shall I rest
Till my lips close on thy lips are laid
My head upon thy breast.*
Scrawled at the bottom of the page was, "Be ready at midnight. Stephen"
Rose didn't have much time to react for almost as soon as she was done reading, Henry, still in his funeral clothes walked in. She shoved the poem quickly down her bodice. He came over to her and clasped her hand. Rose noted that his eyes were red. "How was it?" she asked.
"Let's not talk about it now," he replied. "Is Sir Stephen still here?"
"No, he left over an hour ago."
"Ah. My sisters told me they found you alone with him in the garden."
"We were taking a walk."
"Rose," he said, squeezing her hand, "you should take care not to spend too much time with him. People are beginning to talk, and I have the feeling that he is not to be trusted."
Rose pulled her hand out of his. "You are not my father," she snapped.
"I'm just concerned-"
"Stay out of my business, Henry," she said grimly and walked out. She had made her decision.
*"O Happy Hour" from Carmina Burana, author unknown
Continued In Next Section
© 2000 Copyright held by the author.