Chapter Nine
At dinner, surrounded by her guests, Lady Catherine basked in the glow of superior news and subservient company. Sir Robert and Lady Fairfax, their daughters, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson from Notting, the spinster Watkins sisters from Westerham, and the widowed Lady Metcalfe and her three oldest daughters listened with rapt attention as Lady Catherine told them about how she had whisked away the most popular doctor in London—at the beginning of the season, no less, and out of the clutches of society’s leading matrons—to grace their corner of Kent. Dr. Minton, who sat at the bottom of the table by her ladyship’s desire, merely smiled and nodded as she told and retold her story in stirring detail. Over dessert she concluded her heroic saga by saying that the doctor had high hopes of restoring Anne’s health.
At the mention of such a good report, young Frances Fairfax blurted out, “I hope Anne’s well enough by New Year’s to go to Italy!”
Lady Catherine focused a serious gaze on the girl. “Italy? Of what are you speaking?”
Frances cast an expression of embarrassed dismay at Anne. “Have you not told her?”
The grand lady eyed her daughter. “Tell me…what?”
In truth, Anne had forgotten discussing it with her after receiving Dr. Minton’s encouraging diagnosis. “It was something we talked about. No plans have been made.”
Emily saw her chance to skirt her mother’s certain disapproval and turned to the soft-hearted Sir Robert. “Papa, if Anne goes to Italy for the winter, may we go with her? You have told us so many nice things about Naples when you went on your Grand Tour. And both of your aunts went when they were young, so we know it is right for girls to go, too. We should ever so much like to see it now that peace has come.”
All the parents at the table reacted with surprise, while all the younger people were pictures of hope and anticipation, even those who could only enjoy the aspirations of the others.
Lady Catherine intoned, “What is this nonsense you are talking?”
The hopes of the young deflated as quickly as they had arisen.
But now that the cat was out of the bag, Anne could not deny her wishes. Perhaps Dr. Minton’s words had given her strength she did not know she had. “Mamma,” she said, clearing her throat, “this does look to be a dreadful winter. And you know I have been more ill than usual. Perhaps being in a warm climate for the winter would help me.”
There, she had said it. Silence hung in the room, interrupted only by the nervous rustle of a napkin.
Lady Catherine seemed more baffled than angry. “Whose idea was this?” She glanced at the Fairfax girls, then concentrated on her daughter.
Anne said with as little fear as her trembling would allow, “It merely came up in a conversation. …I like the idea very much.”
“But,” her mother continued in confusion, “to travel so many hundreds of miles, over bad roads and through unsafe terrain, just to be in a foreign country? For what? Is it not easier to have Woodbridge instruct the servants to increase the firewood here?”
Anne felt her confidence slipping. Her mother would have reasonable alternatives no matter what she said. “The travel could be done slowly, so the roads would not matter so very much. And to be in sunshine, Mamma. You know what a tonic that is for me.”
Lady Catherine still did not understand. “But the expense, and the inconvenience, and such a long distance, just for a few days of sunshine? Surely there is somewhere here you could go and not be so far from home.”
Anne had no argument. She knew of nowhere in England that could come close to the promised warmth and sunshine of Naples. However, this had nothing to do with logic. It was about what she wanted.
“My lady, I think it is a wonderful idea.”
All eyes at the table turned to Dr. Minton.
The physician was the epitome of professional discernment. “There are many healthful benefits to warm climates. I have been told by several colleagues that the southern Italian states in particular have fresh fruits and vegetables even in the winter season. Miss de Bourgh is quite reasonable in yearning for an escape from our dreary English winters. I believe this could be most beneficial and lead to a marked improvement in her health.”
All eyes turned to Lady Catherine, some hopeful, some prepared for the worst, but all anxious for her response.
As the frowning lady pondered this growing insurrection, Dr. Minton added mildly, “I have also heard from friends in the Kingdom of Naples that a substantial English population has grown there since the peace treaty. That should give your ladyship some comfort. Perhaps there will even be friends of yours with whom your daughter could pass her time during her stay.”
Lady Catherine scowled at him. “I know of no one who has traveled to Italy. I have no friends there. All the people who matter are here. And why would I want to travel so far for a few fruits and vegetables? There are hothouses enough to suit anyone’s needs. I think the idea is outlandish.”
Anne could see the gate of her mother’s mind about to close. She had one chance. In a meek voice, she said, “But Mamma, you do not have to go.” Anne flinched when her mother’s bewildered, searing gaze swung to face her. She heard herself saying, “And before you left for London, you said if I wanted anything for my birthday, all I had to do was ask.”
Lady Catherine’s glare melted into amazement. She stammered, “But, my dear, I meant any thing. A hat, a coach, new gowns. But a dangerous trip a quarter of the way around the known world can hardly be considered a thing. Surely you understand that.”
To her amazement, Anne realized she was angry with her mother. She looked at the half-eaten cake on her plate. “You brought me a doctor to help me get stronger, but you will not do what he recommends.” She glanced up at the doctor’s pleasant face. “Dr. Minton, I suppose this means you may return to London.” She folded her napkin and placed it next to her plate. She said to the guests, “You will please excuse me. I am very tired.” She left the room, terrified at what she had done and the stunned silence behind her.