But Helga won over her employers with her Meranertorte—a piece of chocolate heaven that left the knight and his lady speechless, save for an occasional groan of pleasure. The two sat back in satisfaction as the plates were taken away.
“Mein Fräulein, diene ich den Kaffee jetzt?” asked Frau Lippermann.
Caroline winced. The only tea to be had in Vienna was the few boxes they had brought from England. Sofia assured them more could be acquired, but Caroline had her doubts; Sofia had recommended the Leberknödelsuppe, after all.
“Shall we adjourn to the library, dear?” she asked her husband. “Kaffee—library,” she pantomimed to the housekeeper.
After they were served, the mistress waited until Sofia, finally becoming aware of her ladyship’s glare in her direction, excused herself.
“Sir John, I wish to speak to you about the staff.”
“What? Is something the matter?”
Now that she had begun, Caroline found it hard to continue. She did not want to lose Sir John’s confidence in her abilities. “I am sorry about dinner. It was not what I was expecting—”
“Nonsense, m’dear! We are in a foreign country, you know. I will grant you the soup was a bit strange, but it does not signify. You must admit the dessert was excellent!”
“Yes, that is true, but—”
“If there is anything you do not like, just let Helga know. Sofia will translate.”
Caroline put her coffee cup down. “It is about Sofia that I wish to speak to you.” Sir John looked at his wife expectantly. “I have found her to be disrespectful.”
“Indeed? In what way?”
“Well, nothing specific. It is her general attitude.” She stopped as she heard her husband’s gentle chuckle. “What do you find so amusing, sir?”
“Attitude? Oh, my dear Caroline, of course she has an attitude. She is Austrian! All these Teutonic types think they are God’s gift to the world. Heaven help us if the Prussians, Bavarians, and Austrians ever get together. We would probably bring Bonaparte back to help take them on.” He reached over and patted her hand. “No, you just keep the whip hand over that little girl and all will be well.”
Sir John returned to his coffee, never realizing his blunder. He did have confidence in Caroline’s abilities to run the household, but like so many military men before and after him, he did not understand that a household staff could not be managed like a regiment. In his experience, once an order was given, it was to be obeyed without question. This was a luxury not afforded his wife.
He also made another critical mistake. Like most men, he underestimated the young and blonde.
Caroline immediately hid behind a mask of indifference. A lifetime of training had taught her never to show how offended she might be at some careless or malicious remark. Her husband’s patronizing comment had hurt her deeply, but her fear of being considered unable to do her duties—of being unworthy—stayed her tongue.
Chapter 9
Rosings Park
Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his head as the carriage rocked over a rut in the road.
“Does your head hurt, Cousin?” asked Anne de Bourgh disapprovingly, sitting across the carriage from him with her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.
“Just a slight headache. A trifle—it will pass soon enough.” Actually, Richard’s head was splitting, but he was not about to admit it to her.
Darcy might think nothing of fifty miles of good road in a well-sprung carriage, but Richard would wager he had never been on the road to Hunsford with a drunken headache!
Yesterday was the wedding of Kitty Bennet to Mr. Southerland, an excellent reason to make merry. That, however, was not the sole reason for Richard’s current distress. His overindulgence in Mr. Bennet’s excellent cellar was in anticipation of his duty today: He must journey to Rosings to set right whatever Lady Catherine had damaged. Moreover, he was to do it himself, for there would be no father or Darcy to help him.
Lord Matlock had let Netherfield for the duration of the Darcy, Bingley, and Fitzwilliam families’ stay in Meryton during the Southerland wedding. For a week, Richard had been closed up in the study with his father and Darcy reviewing all contracts and other estate matters regarding Rosings. Too much wine was not the only reason Richard’s head was bursting. Never again would the colonel mock his father, his brother, or his cousin, for he learned how taxing the proper management of an estate could be.
Richard eyed his cousin, who was looking out the carriage window with a sour expression on her face. He wondered why Anne seemed so cross with him. She surely knew nothing of his mission. She almost certainly thought he was taking this opportunity of returning her and Mrs. Jenkinson to Rosings to visit Aunt Catherine earlier than he usually did.
Anne’s unhappy mood disturbed Richard greatly. He had always gone out of his way to pay attention to his cousin, feeling it was his duty to make up for Darcy’s distance in his dealings with her. He knew that Darcy had little choice; any attention he showed Anne would have been taken by Lady Catherine as submission to her desire for a union between the two.
Simply put, Colonel Fitzwilliam did not like Anne being displeased with him.
A jarring bump in the road caused another shot of pain to race through the gentleman’s head.
Lord! Four more hours of this.
“Richard! Come closer, boy. Let me have a good look at you!”
Lady Catherine was in fine form upon the travelers’ arrival. She held court in her palatial sitting room, Mr. and Mrs. Collins seated on the divan next to her. Richard acknowledged the pair before addressing his aunt.
“Aunt Catherine.” He bent to kiss her cheek, a jolt of pain behind his eyes. “I trust I find you well.”
The old woman eyed him with a mixture of amusement and disparagement. “I was always celebrated for my strong constitution and robust health. Indeed, illness is a weakness brought on by lack of occupation and libertine behavior. I am sure that ill breeding is a cause of many of the world’s maladies. One must always watch the bloodlines, be it dogs, horses, or… other things.”
Will you never stop disparaging the Bennets, Aunt? Richard thought.
Mr. Collins seconded his illustrious patron’s position. “Oh, yes, Lady Catherine. Why, just the other day, I was speaking to Mrs. Collins while preparing next week’s sermon, pointing out a certain passage in scripture that exactly reaffirms your excellent observation of—”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Catherine silenced him. The vicar deflated like a bullfrog that had ceased to croak. The mistress of Rosings must have noticed Richard’s reaction to her words and hastened to correct them. “Anne is doing better now as you undoubtedly noticed during her visit in the north. Her delicate constitution is not rare among those of the highest station and must not be confused with those of low class.
“Well, Nephew, I am happy to see you. I am sure your affection for Rosings increases daily and that is what brought you to us early this year.”
“How could it not?” cried her jester. “Such refinement, such—”
“Anne has gone to her room, has she? I am certain she is fatigued from the journey—coming from such a primitive part of the world.” The good patroness took no notice of the flash of pain that flew over Mrs. Collins’s face. “Rest is always good for the complexion.”
As poorly as Richard was feeling, he could not resist responding. “Hertfordshire is a lovely place! Why, there was no snow or ice to speak of, and the roads were in good condition. Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson bore the journey very well.”