Chapter 1
"I will never marry," Maria Lucas declared when her nephew Wills threw the half-filled teapot on the floor. "I will never have children," she said when her niece Cathy started crying because tea had gotten on her doll's dress. "And I will not spend a single day more in Kent than I absolutely have to," she added when Wills triumphantly dashed his saucer against the wall.
It was a clear April morning after a week of rain, and Maria wanted nothing more than to take a walk out in the woods around Rosings Park. But her sister and her brother-in-law were out visiting members of Mr. Collins's parish, and the nurse Mrs. Edwards was out fetching medicine from the doctor for little Cathy's cold. So that left Maria and Sarah the maid to deal with the restless children.
Sarah took on the easier task of cleaning the mess on the nursery floor. Maria grabbed the other two saucers on the table before Wills could break them, too. The four-year-old boy gave his aunt his best little pout and said, "I don't want tea. I want cake."
Wills was his father's pet and was therefore spoiled beyond anything his mother or Maria could do. Had Mr. Collins been home, a cake would be baked for him and Wills would have been praised for his show of spirit. His sister Cathy was a delicate, angelic two-year-old, and she was her brother's second favorite victim. His favorite victim was his lovely little aunt.
"No throwing things," Maria said, not that she had any hope of being listened to. "You made your sister cry."
"She cries too much," Wills said. He slid off his chair and started moving towards the door, no doubt to deliver his cake request to the kitchen. Maria knew that the cook was too frightened of being fired by Mr. Collins to be able to tell Wills to go away, but at the same time Mrs. Collins would not be happy if she found that instead of dinner being prepared, a cake was made. She put the saucers on a high shelf on a bookcase containing the children's schoolbooks, and she grabbed her nephew by the collar before he could leave.
"Oh no you don't," she said. "You are staying here and helping Sarah clean up the mess you made."
Wills grimaced and said, "Daddy won't make me."
"Your father isn't home. I am the one in charge. And I say you help clean up your mess." Maria was not a very authoritative person, but she tried to sound as grown-up as possible. The act almost worked. Wills hesitated, calculating how long it would be before his father would likely be home and speculating on what sort of punishment Maria would be able to administer during that time. And that hesitation saved the day; there was a knock at the front door. A visitor!
"Excuse me, Miss," Sarah said. She stopped collecting the teapot shards and went to answer the front door. Maria already knew who the visitor had to be: Mr. Collins's curate, young Mr. Langton.
Receiving a visitor was a special event that made all cake-related thoughts vanish, and Cathy stopped crying and concentrated on straightening her doll's clothes so they would be presentable for Company. Maria happily sat down at the nursery table and smiled while they all silently listened to the approaching steps. Maybe having children would not be so bad if she could be assured that they wouldn't say much and would often be on their best behavior for visitors. Perhaps the secret was to have many, many visitors.
Sarah opened the door and said, "Mr. Langton for you, Miss Lucas." She went back to the mess on the floor, and Maria stood up to greet the curate. Mr. Langton had been a frequent and welcomed visitor during Maria's stay in Kent, particularly during the last week when no one could do much more than stay indoors and wait for the rain to stop. He was the third son of a humble country squire and had no immediate prospects of getting his own parish any time soon, so until he had his own living he worked under Maria's brother-in-law. He was a kind young man and the children would behave when he came, so the arrival of Mr. Langton never failed to bring a genuine smile to Maria's pretty face.
"How good of you to visit, Mr. Langton," she said. "I'm afraid we are the only ones home now. My sister and Mr. Collins are out."
Mr. Langton looked around, noting the broken teapot and saucer, Cathy's tear-streaked face, the saucers incongruously sitting on the bookshelf, and Maria's nervous looks at her niece and nephew. He was familiar enough with the Collins household to fill in the rest of the details of how things were prior to his arrival.
"Where is your good Mrs. Edwards?" he asked. "I thought I saw her coming into the kitchen while I was walking up the drive."
"She's back?" Maria said. She didn't try to hide her delight. Mrs. Edwards had much more experience with dealing with children, and even Mr. Collins would listen to her advice when Wills was being particularly wicked.
Mrs. Edwards herself now appeared in the nursery door. She was a respectable widow from the area with no children of her own and she was loud enough to make everyone, young and old, listen and obey. She surveyed the state of the room and said, "What have you been doing without me, Miss Lucas? You must let the children run wild."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Edwards," Maria said. She did not even dare to think that Mrs. Edwards was merely an employee of the house whereas she was the mistress's sister. Mrs. Edwards had much more authority and power in the Collins household than Maria.
Mrs. Edwards nodded in acknowledgement of the apology and said, "You are still young. You'll learn once you have children of your own, right, Mr. Langton?"
Maria didn't think that she would ever be able to deal with a boy like Wills, but she didn't dare to contradict Mrs. Edwards. And Maria saw no reason for Mrs. Edwards to ask Mr. Langton what he thought about Maria's future children.
"Now that you are here, Mrs. Edwards, perhaps it would be all right for Miss Lucas to go out for a walk," Mr. Langton said.
Maria could have hugged him for that suggestion. She was merely waiting for the right time to make her escape. Having Mr. Langton to accompany her would get her outside faster than she had expected, without the children. Far, far away from the children.
"Yes, please, Mrs. Edwards," Maria said enthusiastically. "If you don't mind, of course."
Mrs. Edwards laughed and said, "Don't worry about a poor old woman, child. I'll tell your sister where you are."
The Collinses lived across the lane from the vast estate of Rosings Park, with its extensive woods, hills, meadows, and gardens crisscrossed with picturesque paths. The de Bourgh family at Rosings Park was very, very wealthy, and the grounds were immaculately cared for. Maria had never even made it all the way across their lands to reach any of the neighboring estates. There was enough to see around Rosings.
Her sister had made a very good match in marrying Mr. Collins. Maria had been told that over and over again, and sometimes she even agreed. Charlotte got to live in a beautiful part of Kent, whereas Maria was usually stuck in Meryton. Not that there was anything wrong with Meryton, of course, but after eighteen complacent years of living there, Maria was ready for something new. At the same time, Maria was not eager to follow her sister's steps into matrimony. Those children! And that husband! Mr. Collins was always so grave and concerned about fulfilling his duties and pleasing Lady Catherine. How could anyone relax when he was in the room worrying about what Lady Catherine would think of his new winter cloak?
Maria had no desire to ever be a clergyman's wife. Everyone would always be watching her and expecting her to do what she was supposed to do. That didn't sound like much fun at all. She wanted ... she wanted... Oh, she didn't know what she wanted. She wanted another Mr. Darcy to come into town and carry her away to his vast estates in Derbyshire, like what happened to Lizzy Bennet. But not someone as serious as Mr. Darcy, she would never be able to think of what to say to him during dinner. She wanted to marry someone nice and friendly. Someone like Mr. Bingley, perhaps, but without his sisters. She would hate to know that her husband's family disliked her.
She still had another seven years to make up her mind about who to marry before everyone gave up on her. That was an enormous amount of time. Surely some spectacular being would come into her life during the next few years, and she would get her happy ending, too. Until then she was happy to be walking in the woods around Rosings Park on a bright spring morning.
Maria followed Mr. Langton and knew they were walking in one of the more secluded, peaceful parts of the woods. She didn't mind. She was happy to be out of doors and away from all loud nephews. She was full of smiles and nice things to say about her sister's family and life at Hunsford. Mr. Langton was happy merely to be with her and to listen to her cheerful chatter.
Once they were very far into the wood and away from the more popular paths, Mr. Langton interrupted Maria's description of Charlotte's new gown from London and said, "Excuse me, Miss Lucas, but there is a certain matter I have long been wanting to talk to you about."
"Oh? Why didn't you talk about it yesterday or the day before? You always visit us," Maria said.
"I mean to say I have been waiting to talk to you alone," he said. "It's just that... I mean to say..."
Mr. Langton looked down at the path while he gathered his thoughts and Maria wondered what on earth he could be thinking about. He never seemed to have any problems speaking with her in the past. She thought he was a very nice friend. Her sister had repeatedly mentioned "poor Mr. Langton", with great emphasis on the poor part, and sometimes lamented that it was a shame that he had no fortune and no ready prospects for getting his own parish and would therefore be very unlikely to make a very good match any time soon. Maria hoped her friend had more success than Charlotte foretold for him, and perhaps he would find some very wealthy, charming girl whose family's estate had a vacant living.
"Yes?" Maria asked.
Mr. Langton took a deep breath, then said, "It would be wiser for me to wait to speak to you like this, Miss Lucas, but I heard your sister say that you were planning on returning home in the next fortnight. So please excuse me for speaking so frankly."
"But you haven't said anything to me, frank or not," Maria said.
"Yes, I, well, I mean to say..."
Yes, she understood that, he meant to say something frankly. Maria tried not to be impatient, thinking of the charming wife he was going to one day have and his quaint little parish and his chickens and his flock of children. He was a kind young man. A little boring, perhaps, but still, he was a friend.
"I-I-Would you ... would you do me the honor..."
At least she couldn't accuse him of being rash. Whatever it was he was trying to say, he was taking his time getting the words out.
"...of being my ... Oh, I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I? It's just that you're so pretty and I really have nothing to offer you besides my admiration and love," he said in his normal tone of voice, like he was saying something completely normal and, well, sane.
Maybe it was merely Maria's imagination, but she could swear he was trying to propose to her. But that would be ridiculous. Charlotte said that he would never be able to do as well as marrying someone in Maria's position. Those were Charlotte's exact words: Mr. Langton would never be able to marry someone like her. He had no money, no connections, and, besides, he was dull.
Maria tried to say something to the effect that the entire idea was absurd, but Mr. Langton was not done yet. "I have never met a young woman like you before," he said. "Never have I met with such beauty, goodness, and grace united in one being." Now that he had begun, he didn't seem eager to stop to hear her reaction.
As he continued talking about her beauty and accomplishments, Maria blushed prettily, then deeply, then ferociously. She wondered why her mother or her sister Charlotte, both of whom were usually so forthcoming with advice, had never instructed her as to how to reject a suitor who seems very, very fond of her. She tried to think of some pretty speech so she could match his own eloquence, but, with so little preparation, she could not immediately think of good counter-arguments to make to his reasons why they should marry. Besides the lack of money. And the absence of love on her side, at least. And his nebulous future.
Luckily Mr. Langton was not desirous of a response yet. As merely the curate at Rosings Park, he very rarely had an audience willing to listen to him for any length of time, so he took on the task of bringing up the objections to their marriage himself. He had had more time to think of them, so Maria was quite satisfied with what he came up with.
"I know your sister, Mrs. Collins, would not be in favor of our marrying so young and without the resources that most people have when they start out in the world," he was saying, just as circumstances out of his control were about to make the scene even more interesting, "but - (oh, look, a fox)," a small orange animal crashed through the bramble right by the pair and disappeared once again, "- but, as I was saying, I feel that - (what...?)," more breaking of branches and heavy animal footsteps were approaching, "- AAAAHHH!"
Maria Lucas had never been proposed to before, but she had always assumed that they ended with the lady giving her answer, not with the gentleman being knocked to the ground by four large dogs. The dogs were more interested in killing foxes than curates, so having felled the man they continued their pursuit of the bushy-tailed beast. Maria had shrieked at the same time as Mr. Langton, and she now moved to help the young man up.
Her helpful intentions were momentarily thwarted by another creature coming from the branches, this time being not a fox or dog, but a man on a horse. Miss Lucas was not so much a country miss to be startled by a finely dressed gentleman; she was more startled by his being very, very handsome. Lord, he was even better looking than Mr. Wickham, who she had been convinced was the handsomest man ever. Of course Mr. Wickham was a very bad man, whereas this new handsome stranger was already calling back his dogs, getting off his horse, and asking whether Maria was all right, all at once. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and considerate.
And all Maria could do was stare. Lord, he really was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was an imposing man, with the strong broad-shoulders and lean build of an active sportsman. He had dark-brown hair, nearly black, that he wore somewhat longer than fashion, and to go with the hair he had dark eyes, nearly black. His real beauty came from his perfectly formed face. Maria could only wish that their children would inherit his nose and his eyelashes.
Their children? Oh my! Maria tried to regain control of her very naughty thoughts and attempted to stop gaping at the stranger like a simpleton.
"Are you hurt?" the very, very handsome stranger asked.
Maria must have looked very unwell, or very shocked in such a way that one who did not know her would think that she was unwell, for he dropped his horse's lead and moved towards her to help steady her. Then he noticed Mr. Langton still lying on the ground. Then Maria, too, remembered Mr. Langton still on the ground. He hadn't moved a limb or made a moan.
"Oh no, is he dead?" Maria asked. She was not nearly as anxious about Mr. Langton's well-being as she had been prior to the stranger's arrival, but she did feel responsible for his being in the woods that morning. She had wanted a morning walk, even if she had not wanted the marriage proposal that came with it.
The gentleman bent down next to Mr. Langton, checked for signs of life, and shook his head no. He carefully turned the young clergyman onto his back and then stood up again. "He has only fainted," he said. "It must have been the surprise. You did scream very loudly."
Maria had never heard of a man fainting, especially not because of a few dogs and a scream. Women were allowed to faint over nothing. Perhaps Mr. Langton hit his head in his fall.
"Should we send for a doctor?" Maria asked.
"He'll be awake soon enough," the stranger said.
He certainly did look like a gentleman, and no gentleman leaves a clergyman unconscious on the ground if he does not truly believe the other man to be in no danger. There must be something in the Bible against that. But what if the stranger was wrong? And what was she supposed to do now? The man was now scolding his dogs and tending to his horse. Surely he wouldn't just leave her there with the unconscious curate. And she did not even know his name. She wanted Mr. Langton to wake up at once and take her back to the parsonage, and to never say another word about marrying her. Then when she was in her prettiest dress, she wanted to meet the stranger again and think more about how handsome their children would be.
The stranger had seen to his accompanying menagerie and returned to Maria's side. She strongly suspected that something in the current situation was highly improper. A tête à tête with the curate on the matter of matrimony? A tête à tête with a very handsome mysterious man while a curate was unconscious at her feet? Mrs. Collins was not going to be happy when she heard about this.
The other man did little to help Maria sort out her thoughts on the current circumstances. He actually seemed to be amused by her nervousness, though he was making a very gallant effort to avoid smiling. A laugh had been discreetly converted into a cough, and he said, "Don't worry, your friend will be fine."
"Yes, of course," Maria said. Why must she always be so shy when trying to speak to men? And why couldn't she even ask him who he was? If she was going to marry him some day, she ought to know his name first.
Luckily or unluckily the man was not rendered speechless by his companion's beauty and the potential romance of the situation and could therefore carry on a conversation. He said, "Neither of you live in the area. I have lived here all my life. I would have remembered you. What are you doing here?"
Lady Catherine had never invited Maria to dinner at the house at Rosings whenever she invited her rich, important neighbors over, so Maria had had no opportunity to meet the local gentry. She had never before considered it a great loss, but perhaps this man was one of Lady Catherine's dinner guests. Maybe Lady Catherine would invite both of them to dinner on the same night. She would make certain her hair was tidier than it was at present. And she would wear her pink dress. She looked nice in pink.
She then belatedly remembered that the man had asked her a question. Yes, she ought to explain why she was in that part of the woods with Mr. Langton. She said, "We were just out for a walk from Rosings Park. Mr. Langton has only moved in the area two months ago-he is our new curate-so perhaps you may have not met him yet."
Here would be another marvelous opportunity for the stranger to introduce himself, but he was more interested in continuing his interrogation of the poor girl.
"And you? Are you staying at Rosings Park?"
Perhaps it was the stress of the situation, because here Maria Lucas did something that she very, very rarely ever did in her life: she told a bit of a fib. Instead of explaining to the very fascinating stranger how she was staying with the rector who lived across a lane from Rosings Park, she merely said, "Well, yes, you could say that."
He looked vaguely surprised - Lady Catherine's guests probably did not make a habit of appearing in secluded woods around Rosings - then he smiled, and she couldn't say any more if she wanted to. What a smile! What teeth!
"I've been out of the country. I'm sorry we have not had a chance to meet," he said. How unbelievable; he actually was apologizing to Maria Lucas for not knowing and recognizing her. Maria wouldn't tell him now about her brother-in-law's parish for all the world. For the moment, at least, Maria Lucas was a lady, a guest at Rosings Park.
The gentleman looked down at Mr. Langton again and the lovely smile vanished. Maria stopped smiling, too. What was she going to do about Mr. Langton? The curate was still unconscious, so the man could continue asking questions and not explaining himself.
He said, "That explains why you are both in Kent. Now why were you in a secluded wood with your new curate, who apparently has a phobia of dogs? I'm surprised Lady Catherine allowed you to be unchaperoned."
"A phobia? That sounds very serious. He was only proposing to me when-" She gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that, especially not to a man who she was becoming increasingly convinced was the handsomest man in the world. And how many house guests at Rosings Park are proposed to by curates?
The stranger was not able to hide his laugh this time. It was not a cruel laugh, though. He simply found the terrified expression on her face amusing, and had Maria seen someone else with similar facial contortions she would have laughed as well. As it was, she blushed until he made his next remark: "Well, then, did you reply before the dogs came or not?"
That made her blush even more. "Not yet," she said, feeling even more miserable and awkward than before. Never mind how she should deal with the stranger; how was she going to be able to broach the subject of matrimony now with Mr. Langton? He would wake up, she would ask how he is, then she would turn down his proposal? Or would that mean that they would have to have a second conversation to straighten things out. And who knows what could happen then. Bees? A runaway horse?
"If I were you, I'd say no," the stranger said. He smiled again and then - Maria Lucas blushed for days afterward simply remembering what he had done - he winked at her. She had never been winked at by a handsome gentleman in her life, and it did not seem like the proper thing to be doing at a time of crisis like that.
He looked back down at Mr. Langton and said, "I think your curate is coming around. So, if you would not mind, I should be on my way. Mr. Langton," he said to the now blinking clergyman, "I apologize for the actions of my dogs. You are well?"
"You-you should have those dogs better controlled," Mr. Langton said as he struggled to get on his feet. He was still pale and agitated. Maria was not convinced that he was entirely well.
"My infinite apologies, sir. But as you seem unharmed, I should get my dogs away before they cause any more trouble on the de Bourgh's land. I hadn't realized we had come this far west chasing after that fox," he said. He turned to Maria and said, "Send my regards to Lady Catherine." He then hopped on his horse and made a dramatic exit, barking dogs trailing behind him. Maria sighed over the romance that could have been in that encounter, but a mild expression of surprise from Mr. Langton reminded her of the more pressing matters to straighten.
"Do you know who that was?" Mr. Langton asked. He was still brushing dirt from his clothing and hair. Maria had never seen him in such a state of near-dishevelment, and decided he was almost handsome when he was not so tidy. But she would still not marry him and she still needed to make that clear to him at once.
"He never told me his name, though he did say that he lived in the area. Are you well? Really? We should go back to the parsonage at once."
"But Miss Lucas, my offer, I was serious about it."
"I cannot marry you. I-I like dogs too much."
So that was the famous Miss Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of Rosings Park and, if he remembered correctly, a fortune of at least 120,000 pounds after her mother's death. Anthony Chapman hadn't expected her to be so young and pretty. Why on earth was Miss de Bourgh wandering the woods of Kent, being proposed to by curates, when all of London could and should be groveling at her dainty feet? 120,000 pounds...
He would not go so far as to call Miss de Bourgh beautiful, but she was undoubtedly very good-looking. She was a petite young woman with bouncing blonde curls, a cute little nose, and darling blue eyes, a picture-perfect English girl. The ribbons in her bonnet matched the bows on her shoes. She was a proper young lady, though before she went out much in society she ought to learn how to better hide what she was thinking. From merely watching her eyes, Anthony knew that Miss de Bourgh admired him, and he made her nervous. No, 'admired' was not the right word. She was enthralled by him. She was, or would soon be, madly in love with him. And, best of all, she was rich.
Anthony was confident that, at the old age of twenty-eight, he knew all about women. He never lacked admirers, married or unmarried, high or low birth, and he knew he could pick and choose who he wanted next. Perhaps he was a little to conscious of the good impression he made on the opposite sex, but his friends repeated to each other and to him that he would settle down once he took over as head of the family and got married. He had been in control of the family fortunes since his father's death four years ago, but there was still no wife. And there was getting to be noticeably less money in the family coffers.
By the time his kennel man had taken away his dogs and his groom was brushing down his horse, Anthony knew what he wanted to do. He would marry Miss Anne de Bourgh. She would be delighted to get such a handsome, presentable, almost-respectable husband, and he'd be delighted with her money.
"Letters from London have arrived," his old butler Vickers announced when he went into the house.
Anthony took the stack of letters, then remembered to ask, "Do you know the family at Rosings Park, Vickers?" He was almost positively certain that the girl had to be Miss de Bourgh, but it couldn't hurt to make certain that he was not mistaken. But, really, what other well-dressed young woman would be wandering around the grounds of Rosings Park with "our" curate? You "could say" she was merely "staying" at Rosings Park. She had to be the daughter of the house, embarrassed at being caught in an awkward situation.
His butler said, "Not personally, sir."
"Of course not. But do you know whether they have any guests currently? A young lady, perhaps?"
"No, sir, the de Bourghs have no visitors. My sister works there and she would have mentioned it."
"Thank you, Vickers," Anthony said. That was all the confirmation he needed. The girl had to be Miss Anne de Bourgh. He went into his father's library to look over his letters and make more plans concerning his future bride. The room was now officially his library, along with everything else in the house, but even after all these years the library still retained the faint smell of old Mr. Chapman's cigars. At least Anthony could swear he still smelled them. The room wouldn't be his until he got it aired out more. The entire house needed airing out. Otherwise the whole place would collapse under a pile of dust, cigar smoke, and unwanted memories.
A maid brought up another message: "Your steward stopped by while you were gone."
The next interruption was another missed visitor: "The village schoolmaster."
"The rector."
"The doctor."
"The local musical society."
"Musical society?" Anthony repeated. "What on earth were they all doing here? Expecting to give me a concert? You'd think people would give me a few days to get used to speaking in English."
"It was not the entire society," the butler said. "Only Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Hunter. Would you like anything else, sir?"
"No, no, that's all. The vultures. They want my money, don't they? Like there is tons of money lying around to give to musical societies and doctors and rectors."
His butler did not give his view on the matter and merely left the gentleman to himself and his brandy. Anthony was sick of his household's discretion. The house was as quiet as a tomb wherever he was. He imagined all the maids and grooms talking, laughing, and having all sorts of fun when he was out or in a different part of the house. The moment he entered a room, everyone was on his best behavior and immediately did whatever Anthony asked them to do. They were perfectly trained, perfectly boring servants.
Maybe Anthony needed some good, unreliable servants he could swear at every now and then. That would make the house feel more like the old days. His father was always bellowing at someone, either an unsatisfactory valet or a disobedient son. And Anthony wanted to repair the East Wing so it could be reopened, he wanted the furniture in the parlors to be reupholstered, he wanted the creaking steps on the main spiral staircase to be repaired, he wanted the leaky window in his bedroom fixed, and he wanted better liquor in the house. The lord-of-the-manor act was already getting tedious, and he had been back at Hollington Manor for only two days.
Anthony had been enjoying life in Paris when he had had the crazy idea that it might be interesting to see the current state of his finances. He wrote to his solicitor in London and to his steward in Kent, and was underwhelmed by the figures they returned to him. His estate was not bringing in half as much as it used to when his father had been alive. His years living abroad had created more of a dent in his family's fortune than he had expected. Some withdraws had been made in his name that he had never authorized which were traced back to his younger brother Nathaniel. In short, things in England were all a mess and he had no choice but to go back and see whether he could straighten them out. He had a grand farewell dinner at his house in Paris, sent lavish presents to his various paramours, settled all his debts, and made his travel arrangements to return home.
Anthony had thought that his father's death would leave him with more money than he would be able to know what to do with and the freedom to spend it as he pleased on himself and his younger brother and sister. But then there were so many other people who expected things from him. And the house! He had thought of it as a castle when he was growing up, and when he was abroad he thought of the happy times he had spent in the house and was delighted by the idea that it was now his. The place was falling to pieces! It would cost a fortune to repair the place, much more than Anthony could comfortably afford to spend.
It was truly fortuitous that he had run into Miss de Bourgh in the woods and interrupted the very unsuitable marriage proposal by the curate. She was a pretty girl and probably naïve enough not to realize how beneath her the curate was. Anthony was confident that a little flattery and a few tender words would be enough to get Miss de Bourgh to agree to marry anyone she did not dislike. She wouldn't stand a chance against his charms. And then he'd have all her money at his disposal, in addition to a pretty little wife.
He took out a sheet of paper from the desk and wrote to invite his neighbors at Rosing Park over for dinner. It was a shame his father had never gotten along with Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He hardly knew the woman, and he knew even less about the daughter. But his mind was already made up. A large fortune secured by marriage was precisely what Anthony needed to get his affairs in order.