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feathers in their hats, the food they ate, and how many times they chewed it. Indeed, her influence was not limited to her own manor. Cottagers could not have a quarrel over a garden spot without her entering an opinion on the matter.
    “Your aunt’s finger is in everyone’s pie,” Elizabeth groused.
    She caught herself before she said more. Even in the privacy of their parlour, it was unseemly to speak of her husband’s relation in a spiteful manner (no matter how true it was). She took a deep breath and a less strident tone. (Hers was not to hold her peace, just mind how she spoke it.)
    She said, “I find it quite inconceivable that Lady Catherine would leave her only granddaughter in want of her guidance.”
    “You fancy that mere miles shall keep her at bay?” he asked drolly.
    Raising an eyebrow, she agreed his point was well taken.
    All Elizabeth’s motherly instincts were aroused at the notion of Lady Catherine within fifty miles of her children. Georgiana’s kindness put Elizabeth in the questionable position of disapproving of what was nothing less than rescue. Yet, she knew she had good reason to beware. During their bereavement visit to Rosings Park, Lady Catherine had cornered her in the nursery. She had been invited there ostensibly to admire Anne’s motherless child. Instead, she engaged her in a conversation that, although cloaked with an air of cordiality, was nothing less than an ambush.
    Initially, Elizabeth believed the poor woman was overwrought by grief. With Beecher leering at her elbow, her ladyship had attempted to employ sympathy over her daughter’s passing as a means to her own ends by coaxing Elizabeth into promising her son, Geoff, to Anne’s newborn daughter. Confounded and profoundly dismayed, Elizabeth had taken her leave from Rosings Park with Lady Catherine’s plot still ringing in her ears.
    Perhaps it had merely been the act of a mother desperately desiring assurance of her granddaughter’s happiness. Something about the eerie doings made her believe another, more sinister plot was in the works. Nonetheless, Christian charity demanded that grief not be reproved. Any mother’s heart would be wounded to the quick by their child’s death. Each mourned in their own way. Lady Catherine’s may have been to repair to the most profound aspect of her character—that of harrying her relation.
    As it happened, there was even more to that story.
    Not satisfied just to rescue Anne’s daughter, Georgiana also spirited away poor Mrs. Jenkinson. Her ladyship’s unkindness to her after Anne’s death was the talk of the back stairs. (Anne had a penchant for lurid novels and when they were found after her passing, Lady Catherine blamed Mrs. Jenkinson). Upon learning that Anne’s beloved companion had been banished from the house, Georgiana felt compelled to take her with them too. She and Fitzwilliam hid her away in their coach as they took their leave of Kent, knowing at any moment their deception could be found out. It was all quite stirring to Georgiana. Fitzwilliam, the war veteran, was beside himself with anxiety. No wrath burned hotter than his aunt’s and he preferred not to have his hindquarters scorched by her ire. Georgiana, however, was not contrite.
    “What was I to do?” she shrugged. “Mrs. Jenkinson was so heartbroken. I could think of nothing but my dear Mrs. Annesley. Such devotion is to be rewarded.”
    Mrs. Jenkinson was to live the years left to her happily overlooking Anne’s daughter at Whitemore. Still, Elizabeth knew Lady Catherine did nothing for sentiment’s sake. Tucking her granddaughter away with Georgiana also kept her out of Sir Winton Beecher’s sway. One thing Elizabeth knew to be true, the child was much more apt to find loving care in Georgiana’s arms than any at Rosings Park.
    Who could deny any child that?
 
    Chapter 7
    The Guests
 
 
    As soon as the Bingleys compleated their move to the neighbourhood, the Darcys had planned to honour them