Prologue

Prologue

March 7, 1812

Miss Anne de Bourgh resided in what could only be called the world's most tiresome place, a place of such abundant leisure that almost any sort of novelty was a welcome change.

As though that were not misfortune enough, the spring weather did not know how to be anything other than unseasonably frigid. She had been kept within doors, unable to enjoy the freedom of driving her phaeton and consulting the master gardener about specimens for her herbarium, a pastime that was naught but an excuse to visit Gilchrist's cottage and beyond.

Her cousins had yet to arrive, though she suspected they would make little difference when they did present themselves on the twenty-third. Albeit the colonel could be entertaining at times, Darcy and Anne had blessed little in common, save for the fact both were dreadful company on a Sunday evening when there was nothing to do.

At the heart of the matter, there was a world out there which Anne very much longed to explore and experience.

While awaiting those who had been invited to dine, she was overcome with listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of occupation. Sitting and silently snivelling, she stifled another yawn and listened while her mother and Mrs Jenkinson, whom Anne considered two of the world's most exasperating old women, discussed the upcoming ball. Although the celebration would be held in her honour, Anne was permitted little in the way of involvement and, therefore, was ill-disposed to be pleased by anything they suggested.

Unseen and unheard beneath her skirts, the toes of her slippers tapped in time as the hands of the nearby clock ticked towards six. Such impatience was pointless. Anne expected little novelty upon the Hunsford party's arrival though she, at least, might have been unintentionally entertained by the tedious rector. Either that or at the dinner table, she would fall fast asleep headfirst, blowing bubbles in her turtle soup.

Being a genteel young lady, she hesitated to describe Mr Collins as a lickspittle, but he was excessively attentive to anything remotely concerning Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

From the entrance hall the parson's voice, as oily as his pomade, drifted Anne's way. A glance at the mantel confirmed the punctilious cleric was nothing if not punctual. He swept into the room and into a ridiculously low obeisance before his patroness.

Perhaps the graceless fellow will fall flat on his face this time.

Concealing unseemly mirth behind an ever-present handkerchief, Anne prayed the crinkling corners of her eyes and the shaking of her shoulders remained unnoticed. After all, she was supposed to be sullen and in poor health.

How could anyone presently residing on this estate be anything other than miserable? That thought brought Mr Collins's hapless wife to mind. What a prodigious wealth of patience she must possess.

Once Mrs Collins had introduced her houseguests, her father, Sir William Lucas, seemingly awed by the grandeur surrounding him, made a courtly bow as though he were at St James's. Then he took a seat without saying a word. The man's younger daughter, Miss Maria Lucas, appeared frightened almost out of her senses while being made known to Lady Catherine.

The poor girl is even more of a mouse than I am purported to be.

But Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mrs Collins's friend and distant cousin of her husband, appeared quite equal to the task of bearing up admirably in front of Lady Catherine, all the while remaining polite without resorting to affectation. Anne thought the girl had more pluck than the harp that stood unused in the corner.

Such a pert and pretty young woman brings a much-needed freshness and lightness to this stale, dim room. I find her a fascinating creature.

Miss Bennet did not behave according to the most current fashion nor did she dress in that manner, though Anne hardly would have known what was or was not in vogue were it not for her own lady's maid, Dubois. Still, Miss Bennet possessed a particular sort of elegance and charm. Such style was in direct opposition to the dowdiness and vapidity enforced on Anne by her overbearing mother, and she was less and less inclined to endure the restraints imposed by her ladyship.

Next month, however, all such parental strictures may be cast aside.

Anne viewed the formal drawing room through the young lady's dark eyes. While Miss Bennet studied the frescoed ceiling, Anne followed suit and noticed, perhaps for the first time in her life, that the elaborate scene was engirdled by an aureate cornice. Its golden curves, spirals, and flourishes fascinated her, and straightaway she conceived an inspiring notion. In her mind's eye, she pictured the end result, and it was glorious.

Coincidentally, thanks to Dubois—a French émigré of the Revolution of 1789 and a Kentish cousin of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh—a few of the materials Anne would require for her creation already were in her possession. That little diversion of theirs recently had saved her from a monotonous routine and a humdrum, cheerless existence. They considered their handiwork a lark. Others called it vandalism or out-and-out thievery.

What nonsense! I own Rosings Park. Ergo, I cannot steal from myself.

Days prior, when their mischief had first been detected, the person most affected by it ranted and raved and cried, "Heaven and earth! This is an outrage! I shall know how to act!"

In consequence, the magistrate was summoned. Servants were questioned and their quarters searched by the butler and housekeeper under her ladyship's supervision. Nothing was brought to light. Anne, Dubois, and Mrs Jenkinson may have been delinquent, but they were resourceful and clever.

Despite that recent upset, an extravagant celebration was to proceed as planned. Preparations had been underway for weeks. Lavish invitations had been dispatched to those Lady Catherine most wished to impress and to those by whose presence Anne would be honoured.

You are cordially invited to a private ball in celebration of Miss Anne de Bourgh's twenty-first birthday to take place at Rosings Park, Kent, on Monday evening, April 20, commencing at nine o'clock.