Chapter 7

Anne was seated at a small writing desk in her sitting room, writing busily, when the door opened to reveal Mrs. Jenkinson.

“I have your late night tea, Miss de Bourgh,” the lady said, carrying a tray in and placing it carefully on a small side table.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkinson. Did you happen to go upstairs during the fireworks this evening?”

Her companion glanced at the door to ensure that it was closed before sitting down next to her charge.

“I did indeed. Mrs. Bennet screamed and wailed, as did the young Miss Lydia, and when all was said and done, Mr. Darcy decided to confine Miss Lydia to her rooms for three days. Mrs. Bennet was so upset that she fainted, or pretended that she did, at any rate. It was quite exciting.”

Anne allowed herself a dramatic sigh, “What a scene, and I missed it!”

“I can give you details,” Mrs. Jenkinson assured her. “What was it like in the drawing room?”

“It was interesting. Mrs. Philips, who is as crass a soul as you will ever be privileged to meet, regaled us with stories of her own sister’s flirtatious behavior before she captured the late Mr. Bennet in marriage. Georgiana was convinced to play the pianoforte, which quite soothed her soul, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was kind enough to keep Miss Kitty entertained.”

“I understand Miss Kitty is also prone to her own poor behavior.”

“I believe that the girl has a compliant personality and has attached herself, regrettably enough, to Miss Lydia, who is strong-willed and self-absorbed.”

“Perhaps the girl will improve when she spends more time in the company of mature individuals,” Mrs. Jenkinson mused.

“I think she will, almost certainly,” Anne replied. “Now do go to bed, Mrs. Jenkinson, I know you are fatigued.”

“Are you quite sure, Miss de Bourgh?”

“I am. I will write for a few more minutes and then retire myself. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, after all, and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley have a splendid dinner planned. It would be a pity to be exhausted for such a delightful repast.”

“Thank you. I will bid you good night.”

“Good night, and thank you!”

Her companion walked out of the room, and Anne turned her attention back to her foolscap paper.

Her pen glided across the paper as her mind churned out the next scene of her story. Her willowy blonde heroine had – no, not a sister, but a cousin – whose behavior was not that of the polite world. She would not throw a tantrum in a drawing room, but in ... in an assembly hall ... no, an ice skating party! Anne had never been to a skating party as her mother thought it too cold, but she knew Darcy’s parents had hosted skating parties at Pemberley. She would ask her cousins about them.

The minutes flew by, and the quarter hours, and even the hours, and suddenly, to Anne’s astonishment, she heard the clock strike twelve.

She looked up in amazement, her eyes falling on the guttering candles. Once again, the thrill of her writing had carried her well past her bedtime, though that bedtime was largely inflicted upon her by her mother, who continuously fretted over Anne’s health.

Anne de Bourgh stretched out her cramped hand, stood up and walked over to the window to stare outside. It was not snowing; that would be almost too picturesque, but the clouds of the day had been swept away by a brisk wind, and the stars stretched as far as the eye could see.

She smiled to herself, happy she was not at Rosings, but at Netherfield Hall. She was not with her exhausting and imperious mother, but with family and new, but already dear, friends. The new year was almost upon her, and she felt a new life was upon her as well. Observing two happy marriages had had an effect on her, as had the trip to the Meryton bookstore and even decorating for the holidays. “It’s funny what might affect a person,” she mused as she continued to gaze at the night sky. She would visit the Darcys in London when Elizabeth was presented to society. Perhaps her health would improve to the point that she could marry and have children. Or perhaps she would live out her life as a spinster, but a happy, vigorous one, not lonely like a princess trapped in a castle by a dragon.

A particularly bright star twinkled above Meryton to the north, and Anne sighed with contentment. It was Christmas and all was well.

The End