Page 10 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 10

“W e are to have a caller this afternoon.” Georgiana Darcy announced this bit of intelligence with a hint of strain in her voice.

Elizabeth lowered her book and waited silently, trying to discern what would be Miss Darcy’s expectations of her upon on this occasion.

Miss Darcy seated herself and carefully arranged her skirts. “The countess returned to Matlock yesterday, and she desires an introduction.”

Elizabeth straightened. “Richard’s mother?”

There was the barest flutter of impatience in Miss Darcy’s lashes. “No, the dowager countess does not… the present Countess of Matlock is my cousin Reginald’s wife.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Miss Darcy’s odd correction. “I am honoured. May I ask if I ought to do or expect anything particular in meeting such an illustrious person?”

Miss Darcy’s face was a mask. “No.”

“A h, there you are, Mrs Fitzwilliam! Oh, aren’t you just the loveliest—I declare, what a peach you are!”

Elizabeth found herself wrapped in an informal embrace, the likes of which she had not known in years. Her cheek was pressed against the countess’ lace-clad shoulder, her mouth muffled in satin and her body rigid in shock. No one had told her that the countess was a young American woman! And an animated one, at that. When the lady released her, Elizabeth tried not to stumble backwards and gasp for breath.

“It is a pleasure, ma’am,” she stammered.

Miss Darcy shot her a pointed look, then stiffly greeted the countess herself. “We are honoured by your presence, Your Ladyship .”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Georgie,” the countess answered coolly. “Mrs Fitzwilliam, have you met Anne—forgive me—” she rolled her eyes as she gestured to the lady just coming up the steps. “ Miss de Bourgh?”

Elizabeth looked at the approaching woman in interest. “No, but I have heard much of her.” So, this was the future Mrs Darcy? The woman was tall and slender, almost severe in appearance. Her steps were precise and stiff, her expression regal ivory as she drew near to stand beside the countess. Elizabeth felt an unaccountable urge to shrink in her presence.

Miss Darcy performed the formal introductions at last. Jane curtsied beautifully, Elizabeth performed tolerably, and Billy—after going very much red in the face and badly stuttering Miss de Bourgh’s name—managed not to step on anyone’s toes. All in all, the first five minutes were a resounding success.

“N ow, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I mean to call you Elizabeth, is that understood?”

Elizabeth blinked. “Of course, Your Ladyship.”

The countess stirred her tea and extracted the spoon, catching herself slightly to be certain she did not drip upon the saucer. “I should like for you to call me Sheila, but I know too well how these Brits are about their titles. I am afraid I would be doing you no favours if I encouraged such informality. However, if you should have need of anything, I hope you will think of me as a friend.”

Elizabeth glanced at Jane and felt the first shiver of familiarity in an exceedingly long while. “That is very kind of you.”

“Yes, it is.” Lady Matlock sipped from her teacup, ignoring Elizabeth’s stifled laugh, and looking innocently to Miss de Bourgh. “Anne, I do not suppose you know, but Elizabeth and Jane come from Wyoming. That is as far from my home in New York as Paris is from Moscow. Fancy that! Yet, we are thought to be cut from the same cloth. Is that not preposterous, Elizabeth?”

“I cannot argue,” Elizabeth answered dutifully.

“Of course not.” The countess blinked and seemed to notice Billy for the first time. “Mr Collins, what is the nature of your business?”

Billy’s eyes widened, and he touched a finger to his chest. “My… my business, Your Ladyship?”

Elizabeth sighed—no doubt, Billy had been daydreaming again and had paid no attention to the conversation until he heard his name.

“Indeed,” said the countess. “What is it that you do?” To Miss de Bourgh, she tilted her head aside and murmured, “It is a curious difference I have observed, Anne. Here, you are all concerned about whose son a man is, but in America, we ask what he does for a living.”

Elizabeth watched Miss de Bourgh’s brow raise slightly, but the woman politely listened as Billy stammered out his profession with an unwarranted hint of pride.

“I am a clergyman. Well, we would call it a reverend… that is, I would be Reverend Collins, had I a church. I was awaiting my assignment when my cousins requested my escort to England, and it was my honour to be of service.”

Elizabeth could sense Jane shaking her head faintly, and Billy darted a quick, pleading gaze, imploring them not to contradict his assertions. They were mostly true, save for the implication that there truly had been a church in the offing. Poor Billy could claim no such hope.

“A man of the cloth?” Miss de Bourgh asked. “Are you the youngest son, then?”

Billy’s face clouded. “Why, no, I am my father’s only son. Ah! You must wonder that there was no business for me to inherit? My father was an itinerant teacher and minister, first in Montreal and then the great state of Illinois until he took a position at a home for orphaned boys in Halifax, Nova Scotia. That is where I received my education, of course, at King’s College. When my father became ill, he sought the better climate out west and went to live near his Bennet cousins in Wyoming. His name was a very good one in town even until his death—the Collins family always had cause for pride in their roots, but I grant you, my heritage must be nothing compared to your illustrious ancestors.”

Miss de Bourgh pursed her lips. “Indeed, I should think not.”

B y the time the party from Matlock departed, Elizabeth had a throbbing headache. Lady Matlock was a welcome figure, but her personality was almost a physical force. Much as Elizabeth would have liked to return gaiety and teasing for Lady Matlock’s informality, she was restrained at every moment by the disapproving looks of Georgiana Darcy and the weighty curiosity of Anne de Bourgh.

Had it not been for Elizabeth’s determination to not offend Mr Darcy, she would have cared little enough what his sister and his bride-to-be thought of her. However, the strain of trying to earn their approval and conduct herself with their sort of propriety was telling on her. She pressed the heel of her hand to the sensitive dip just above her nose to relieve the pounding. Jane looked to be faring little better, but Billy had stars in his eyes.

“A countess! A real countess!” he exclaimed to them in private. “And such an interest she took in me—well, in all of us. What an honour that she means to come again! And Jane, did you see how elegantly Miss de Bourgh sipped her tea? I shouldn’t wonder that she was the finest pupil in her finishing school. Such grace can only be the product of good breeding, you know—I read it in the London Magazine , I am sure. Such an exquisite Mistress she shall make for Pemberley! I do hope, Lizzy, that you will try to become friendly with her, for her company cannot be anything but a credit to you.”

“Billy—” Elizabeth interrupted, holding up a hand. “I need to lie down.”

“Oh.” His face fell, but then he shrugged. “Very well. I believe I will look at Mr Darcy’s Peerage Journals and see what more I can learn of the de Bourgh family.”

He wandered away, and Elizabeth and Jane exchanged looks of mutual fatigue. “It was kind of the countess to take such pains to see us,” Jane decided.

“Yes, but if I understand properly, she would normally expect us to call on her next, rather than her coming here again at her leisure. Isn’t that the way it happens? I wonder if we are still being kept away.”

“I don’t know, Lizzy,” Jane sighed wearily as they mounted the stairs. “Just let me go to my room for a while.”

Elizabeth followed in silence, her hand trailing over the burnished wood of the railing. Perhaps she would ask Mr Darcy when he returned. The countess did say he would be coming back to Derbyshire soon… to see Miss de Bourgh, of course. Elizabeth frowned, for no reason that she could account for, and went to rest her aching head.

D ear Jane and Lizzy,

We had your letter yesterday. I can scarcely imagine how it came so soon, and all the way from London! The Atlantic must have been exceedingly calm. Perhaps it will be so again, and you will receive this by the end of the month.

Uncle Gardiner was kind enough to ride out to Papa yesterday to show him your letter and to ask if he wished to send some reply. You know Papa. I am sure he had much to say, but he would not put it down in words. He misses you both miserably, but he never speaks of it when we see him, which is less, even, than before you went away.

I can assure you that he seems to be faring well. He tried to leave off working out at the corrals because of Mr Bryson, but the job at the lumber mill proved too much for him, so he is back at the smithy but looking for work again. Uncle Gardiner offered him Billy’s old place, but you know Papa. He will not have more of Uncle’s charity, though Uncle truly does need the help. Papa says it’s a job for a stock boy making pennies a week, and so he keeps on where he is.

Mama has been fretful, as you can imagine. She keeps imagining all sorts of horrors that might have befallen you both, but she was greatly relieved to have your letter. Her relief turned quickly to terror, however, when you wrote that the colonel had been reported missing. She has sequestered Kitty most of the day, requiring her feet to be rubbed and her salts to be offered at any moment, for she believes you will both be left to starve on the streets of London. Naturally, she blames Papa for sending you off, for as we all know, you would have been better off to remain here! (That was a bit of sarcasm. I have been too long in Lydia’s company, I am afraid.)

Speaking of Lydia, while I cannot precisely say that she has reformed her ways, she has caused no scandals of late. Perhaps that is because none of her former friends will receive her, so she has no one to encourage her folly. To be perfectly truthful, our whole family is still greeted with sour looks and whispers wherever we go. It is fortunate that Uncle Gardiner’s general store has no nearby competition, or he might find his business to be suffering. But he is cheerful, and we all hope for better things come spring.

John Lucas paid me a call yesterday. He brought me some of the fall daisies from his mother’s flower bed and asked if he could walk home with me after church. I tried to remember Jane’s advice to smile and be gracious, and Lizzy’s cautions against being too suspicious, so I did accept. Still, I cannot help but wonder if he only means to mock me before the other girls in town. I hope Lizzy will forgive me if I use her sturdiest boots so I may easily walk away from him if the need arises.

Aunt Gardiner sends her love. The children have grown an inch since you left, and they keep asking after both of you. I expect Billy is keeping well and is finally living his dream of seeing London. Try not to lose him, will you? Not that I am particularly eager to have him back, but I can only imagine how he will be received among people of true sophistication. Don’t let them humiliate him too much… but a little would be appropriate. I fancy he will never recover from the experience, and we shall spend the next twenty years hearing about the majesties of London. On second thought, perhaps you ought to try to leave him there.

Please write again when you have more news of the colonel. I am glad to hear that his cousin was willing to take you in, and I hope when we next hear from you that you will be able to report that all is well.

Love,

Mary

Jane gave the letter back to Elizabeth, and both fell to silent contemplation of the fields. They were in their shared sitting room, a crackling fire at their backs and hot tea on the table between them as they gazed out the windows. Mist had rolled in during the afternoon, and the sun was sinking low over the damp meadows. They ought to be changing for dinner, but the servant carrying the letter forwarded from Mr Darcy’s London house had brought more than their first word from home. He had also delivered a melancholy that fell over the sisters like the dark of a moonless night.

“She still writes as if I will return,” Elizabeth said to the window. “Poor, stubborn Mary!”

Jane did not answer for some minutes, but then she mused, “I miss them all.”

“You say that almost as if you feel guilty for not missing them enough .”

Jane, ever the one to seek the happier side of any misfortune or displeasing word, did not rush to explain herself for once. Elizabeth turned more fully towards her sister in curiosity and waited as a shadowy assortment of feelings danced over her features.

“I suppose I do feel guilty,” she said at last. “Don’t you? We are living in the finest of luxury while our poor father slaves in sun and rain over a hot forge or a half-gentled horse. And dear Mama, with all her worries! Whatever else you may say of her, she has ever been affectionate.”

“She has,” Elizabeth agreed. “But since you are submitting objects for our pity, what of our uncle, who must have borne all manner of trial and expense in sending us safely off? What of Mary, who remains the last female of any sense and decorum in the house?”

“And yet we eat mutton and oranges with bone china and polished silver and have a girl to dress us and style our hair. And I cannot recall the last time I stoked a fire or scrubbed the laundry! Yes, Lizzy, I confess that these few weeks have already spoilt me. I am ashamed to think how little their troubles cross my mind.”

“Jane, I know that for an untruth, for we have not had a scone or seen a beautiful sunrise that you have not wished to share it with our dear folk at home. I think you merely like it here more than you expected to.”

“I never thought I would stay here so long,” Jane admitted. “I thought once you found the colonel’s family, Billy and I would be on a ship for home. But because I have been permitted to stay…” She trailed off, the tip of one finger grazing thoughtfully at her lip as she studied the horizon.

Elizabeth waited a long while, but Jane never finished her thought. The shadows softened outside, and the only sound in their chamber was the popping of applewood on the grate. At last, Elizabeth rose to go dress for the evening meal, but a dark movement out the window caught her eye. She pressed against the glass and felt Jane coming to stand beside her.

“Is someone out walking in the trees so late in the day?” Jane asked. “Oh, it is just one of the groundsmen.”

“I saw a woman’s skirt.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and wiped the steam from her breath away from the window with the back of her sleeve. “It is Miss Darcy. I think it is, anyway.”

“Miss Darcy! Why would she be out there at this time of evening?”

“I don’t know, but I have seen her out walking before. She seems to go off alone when everyone thinks she is elsewhere.”

“Lizzy, be careful. You mustn’t say anything against Mr Darcy’s sister while we are their guests.”

“That is why I haven’t said anything before, but I have seen her several times. I cannot think what she might be doing out there.”

“Well,” Jane decided, tugging at Elizabeth’s elbow, “it is not our business, is it? Come, Lizzy, don’t cause any trouble. We have enough of our own.”

Elizabeth hummed her agreement as Jane dragged her away but kept looking back over her shoulder at the dark gown that dashed now from the trees to the back of the house.