Heir of Rosings Park Chapter 17

Heir of Rosing Park iconHow much will Fitzwilliam’s temper with Lady Catherine cost him?


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 Chapter 17

Fitzwilliam straightened his jacket and followed his guests from the dining room to the parlor. Miss Bennet would surely reprimand him if he said it, but Aunt Catherine’s absence at dinner had aided his digestion considerably. Miss Bennet’s simplified menus certainly assisted as well, but unfettered conversation, even if it centered on the business of finding a curate and a companion, was a rare blessing these days.

Beyond even that, Michaels’ penchant for industry had the added benefit of affording him a sense of accomplishment. Something which Rosings had steadily refused to permit. Perhaps now, with Michaels’ assistance, he might finally make progress in restoring the estate to its former grandeur.

In the parlor, Collins badgered Miss Bennet until she played for them, ignoring his wife’s pleas otherwise. It was unfortunate for all. Miss Bennet was an indifferent player, and none would have suffered to miss her concerto. Worse still, it provided Collins with another victory over his cousin, reinforcing in his mind the power he wielded over his family. That alone was nearly insufferable. But worse still, it seemed no one but himself recognized the discomfiture on Miss Bennet’s face.

How could Michaels be so unable to recognize it? Everything in her bearing spoke misery. Though she made efforts to hide it, it was clear, and painful, nay nauseating to watch. The poor woman clearly wanted deliverance from the spectacle, but was only met with further demands for her to perform.

The final notes of her song faded away. Collins drew a deep breath.

Fitzwilliam jumped up. “Perhaps, Mr. Collins, you might be prevailed upon to read to us.”

Mrs. Collins pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

Collins’ chest puffed up as he squared his shoulders. “I should be honored sir.”

Miss Bennet lost no time in leaving the pianoforte, moving toward the bookcase, away from the group. The slump of her shoulders had lessened. That must be a good sign.

“What would you like me to read, sir?” Collins rose, settling into his best vicar’s posture.

Insufferable, proud….

Small Tom burst into the room. “Colonel!”

That was not a tone to be ignored. Fitzwilliam bolted toward the butler.

“Sir, there is a fire in the main barn. Mrs. Jenkinson cannot find Lady Catherine and fears—”

Michaels and Miss Bennet were at his shoulders.

“I will send the scullery maids for the farmers. Marshal the footmen and the hall boys.” Miss Bennet nodded at Small Tom as she dashed out.

Fitzwilliam charged out, Michaels and Collins on his heels.

By the time they pounded out of the kitchen door, his heart thundered in his ears, pulse fast and furious. Shouts from the barn and burgeoning chaos grew around him as men gathered from all directions.

His nose burned and his throat threatened to close against the acrid, smoky fumes that assailed him on the winds. An eerie crimson glow backlit the edge of the house as they rounded the corner.

 The ghosts of cannon fire and rifle reports rang out. So much like France. So much.

No! Not now! He could not afford it now.

A horse screamed and another echoed it.

Just as his had when it was shot from under him.

He stumbled. Michaels grabbed his elbow, keeping him upright . They cleared the edge of the house, the barn now visible.

Grooms struggled to manage terrified horses. Damn it all, they needed to get the beasts as far away from the fire as possible, not be milling around in the midst of all the confusion!

“I’ll manage the grooms,” Michaels called from somewhere that felt very, very far away, and dashed away into the chaos.

Fitzwilliam paused, frozen. Flames licked at the open windows. The building was not entirely engulfed, not yet. But neither had been the house at the edge of the battle field…

“Colonel!” A woman nearly tripped as she came to a stop beside him.

He jumped and stared at her. She was not the girl from the French house. He peered at her through the choking haze.

Miss Bennet. Yes, it was Miss Bennet.

“The farmers are sent for. But Lady Catherine is missing.”

Her words swirled around in his mind, refusing to settle where he could understand them. He blinked hard. Perhaps that would force them into some semblance of order.

“Colonel, you are needed here!” She grasped his shoulders and shook him.

Perhaps. But he was required in France too… He pulled away and turned aside.

She yanked something from her waist and held it under his nose.


He staggered back, choking on the pungent smelling salts.

She caught him before he fell. He held tightly to her arm.

“Are you well?”

Such concern in her dark eyes. He could get lost in them.


“Yes … yes, thank you.” He straightened and gulped in a deep breath.

“The staff is organizing buckets and wet sacks. The farmers are arriving. They need you to coordinate them.”

“Of course, of course.” He squinted and shook his head again. “I am well now.”

She pointed, and he sprinted in that direction.

The chief groom met him. “There are two horses still inside. Don’t know how—”

“How is not the concern. Get axes and open that far wall. See if you can get them out that way.”

Michaels ran toward him, a young groom with him. “The boy thinks he saw Lady Catherine.”


The boy jumped back and stammered a moment before finding his voice. “Yes, sir. I cannot be certain, sir. I was in the hayloft, asleep as the chief groom bid me. Someone came in with a candle, calling for a carriage to be readied. I did not see who it was, but it were a lady’s voice, sir. Then I saw the straw coming to blaze, and that same voice screamed.”

“No one has found her—she must still be inside!” Michaels looked over his shoulder toward the barn.

“Lady Catherine, inside?”

When had Collins joined them?

“We must rescue her!” He pelted toward the burning building.

Fitzwilliam glanced at Michaels.

“Soak your cravat in water and tie it around your face first.” Michaels led the way to the servants passing buckets.

Fitzwilliam wound and tied the cravat as he ran for the barn. This was too bloody familiar!

He could not … yes he could. He had to!

The heat struck him first, then the noise. Fire made a very distinct sound as it consumed, ravaged, devastated …

Smelling salts … remember the smelling salts.

He ducked his head and plunged inside.

Smoke, choking, blinding smoke burned his eyes, his face. He crouched lower, into air just a mite clearer.

“This way!” Michaels called from somewhere to his right.

A flash of white—that must be him.

Fitzwilliam staggered toward it.

Pounding and shouting on the other side of the wall.

Horses screaming.

Flames flared and postured, threatening.

“Here, I have found her!”

He dragged himself toward the voice.

A stumbling, trembling, sobbing body fell into him. Deadweight, covered in far too much fabric. He grabbed it and dragged it toward the first bit of light—an opening in the wall—perhaps a window. But smoke poured through, fighting him for the right of passage.

He dropped the simpering body near the wall and thrust his hands through the opening, waving and screaming with what little voice he had left.

Somewhere behind him, heat surged. The fiery roar redoubled.

This was the fate he had cheated on that French field. The one they said it was a miracle he had escaped. But one did not cheat death for very long. No, it would make its claim that no one could escape.

Not even an officer of His Majesty’s army.

How did one prepare to meet his Maker? Was there a prayer, some confession he should make?

Someone outside grabbed his hand and held it tight. The hand was soft and small and strong. A woman’s voice called something that sounded like his name then other words that became lost in smoke-induced choking.

Other voices gathered near the woman’s voice. Thumping and pounding on the other side. They called to him, words he could not make out.

Cannon fire—what else could that be—echoed behind him. Sparks flew. Crunching, crashing sounds.

His vision narrowed into darkness.



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    • Glynis on August 3, 2017 at 2:22 am
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    Poor Fitzwilliam. He needs Mary more than Michaels does I think. Now if only Lady Catherine and Mr Collins can perish in the fire life could be a little easier. Although I am still not sure how to solve the ‘who marries who’ situation but luckily I’m not the one who is writing it 😊

    • Vesper Meikle on August 3, 2017 at 6:20 am
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    Decided to stop reading this until it’s published and just hope that it will be the Colone and Mary together

    • J. W. Garrett on August 3, 2017 at 6:55 am
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    • Carol hoyt on August 3, 2017 at 8:48 am
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    Heart rending ……..

    • Carole in Canada on August 4, 2017 at 3:43 pm
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    Looks like your plot knots are ready to break! Only Mary will truly see beneath the Colonel’s surface.

    • CarolB on August 6, 2017 at 3:09 pm
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    Love this chapter – it was not what I expected. (I was expecting a physical altercation involving some of the men.)

    However – I don’t understand the subtitle of “How much will Fitzwilliam’s temper with Lady Catherine cost him?” – does it belong with this chapter or maybe the next one?

    • Agnes on August 8, 2017 at 2:28 am
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    Wow, a fire! I guess we have the dramatic event that may stop the wedding. I wonder if Lady Catherine survives (I assume she was alive when she was dragged out by RIchard). Where has Mr. Collins gotten to? Is Michaels out? I lost sight of them in the confusion and the PTSD symptoms of the Colonel. Loved it that Mary could give him strength and comfort, even if only temporarily.

    I loved the twist that Mary is aware of her indifferent music skills and is embarrasswed to be forced to display it. The fact that Michaels doesn’t see it sadly diminshes his character and the strength of her attachment to Mary in the readers’ eyes.

    A fire has a great symbolic significance, too. An elemental power, destructive but also cleansing, burning away the debris, purifying and strengthening what is strong and precious.

    Thanks! I look forward to the aftermath of the fire!

    • Mary on August 9, 2017 at 10:08 pm
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    Quite a turn of events.

    As to the triangle. Sigh. One is an obstinate hothead. The other is trying to manage things peacefully but is only able to do so with Mary’s help. As a result, both leave her feeling frustrated, annoyed and beleaguered in the work she has taken on.

    One is attracted to her by her physical attractions and her helpfulness and the way she acts when she is angry. The other is attracted to her by her good sense and her helpfulness and integrity.

    NEITHER man is any good at understanding her emotions if she does not articulate them, but she generally holds that inability to read her mind and emotions against them. And when they make a guess and it’s wrong, she doesn’t explain or correct. Instead she assumes that they are either insufferable or condescending. And if they make a guess and it’s right, she doesn’t express appreciation.

    I think the colonel fits the “quick to anger fellow with a spotted past and a hidden weakness who ultimately desperately needs the heroine” mode that is popular in so much romantic fiction so I am guessing a romance with him may be the final outcome. If so, too bad. I respect Mr. Michaels’ response to people in times of crisis in general more than I respect the Colonel’s. He works with Mary at such times. The Colonel’s first response to crisis is opposition. And how a man treats others in times of conflict or stress is generally how he will ultimately treat his wife.

    Mary is good at getting the two men to do what she wants when she is mad. It makes her look effectively competent in a crisis situation when the crisis is at Rosings. But who wants a marriage that requires you to be angry in order to work together when crisis hits? I’d really like to see Mary learn how to stop being disappointed that people can’t read her mind or emotions and holding that against them, and instead create some relationships that involve more honest communication of personal thoughts, expectations and perceptions and some mutual clarification and understanding before she ties herself to either one.

    It’s only fair to them.

    And her.

    If she cannot do that, she’s setting herself up for further continued frustration and false assumptions and resentment in an alliance with either one. That’s not a happy way to live.

    And I’d prefer more hope for an HEA for her. 🙂

    • Mary on August 10, 2017 at 9:14 am
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    I have noticed that we have been inside the Colonel’s head in the narrative quite a number of times, but not in Mr. Michaels’. For those of you who are rooting for the former, that’s usually a very good sign. 🙂

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