Page 14 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 14

Wyoming, United States May 1900

R ichard gave the order to halt, and the short line of riders drew up before him. They were straight, prompt, and stood obediently to await the next command. He was satisfied.

“Dismissed,” he told his men, and the line of horses broke up to be unsaddled in preparation for the next group. Finally, he felt as if they were truly going to accomplish what he had been sent here to do. He had one more week before this next batch of horses would be loaded on a train, and then a ship for the long trip to South Africa. Bryson’s men were already starting the breaking on another group of horses in another corral, and Richard and his men would turn their concentration there next.

Since he had nothing to do but wait, he reasoned to himself that he might as well take a look at that bunch while his men caught their next mounts. He rounded the back of the first corrals and saw only one man atop a horse in the second. The others—Bryson and two of his yokels—were leaning on the fence and talking. He could hear a few of their words as he approached, and what he heard froze him in his tracks and filled him with disgust.

“—I told you, that one’s a trollop. She’s to meet me tomorrow night. Said she would sneak out.”

One of the men guffawed. “The little light-skirt! Watch it, that one might be noisy. She’ll tell everyone.”

“Not if I shut her up. You wait, I’ll have her gentle as a kitten, or I’ll break her like a bronc, but she’ll keep quiet.”

Richard’s lip curled. The filth! What man talked publicly about his whores? Whatever the vermin was about, trying to impress his simple-minded buffoons, he had no business doing it here. “Bryson!” he bellowed, and delighted in the way that worthless scoundrel flinched as he turned.

He stalked near, glaring at each of the three idle men in turn. “Why are you three not working? We do not pay you to hold up rail fences.”

Bryson leaned against the post and gestured casually. “Aren’t you the high and mighty one? Paid by the head we are, not the hour.”

Richard drew a step closer and lowered his chin so that the brim of his hat cast a dangerous shade over his eyes. “I have been granted full discretionary powers in all matters pertaining to the remounts—including the choosing of another outfit, if I determine that yours cannot deliver the terms of the contract.”

Bryson thrust out his jaw and stood away from the fence. “You think you can take me, fancy man?”

“Drunk or sober?” Richard crossed his arms and shook his head. “Better tend to the horses instead of your vanity, or I will make sure you won’t be able to afford your favourite vices.”

Bryson held his gaze, his lip curling, then turned to the side with a careless laugh. “Go on, Tommy, no use trading words with these stuffy Khakis. You go show him what a real man can do. Get the buckskin out—I’ll wager he never sat one that rough.”

Richard only narrowed his eyes and watched in silence. He would be glad to put this assignment behind him.

Pemberley August 1900

I t was in a pale and shaken state that Elizabeth permitted herself to be dressed for dinner and presented on the stair. She could hear voices down below, and as she drew near to the descent, she could see the tops of heads. Maids, butlers… Mr Darcy’s loose, dark curls and the straw-coloured coiffure of Miss de Bourgh.

She supposed she ought properly to call it “golden” in gentle company, but for goodness’ sake, it only looked like flattened wheat straw to her, with little colour and even less lustre. But that, Jane said, was uncharitable. Moreover, it almost sounded like jealousy, and she could not for her life fathom where that sentiment might have come from.

She put her foot hesitantly on the top step, but a movement to her right caused her eyes to flick to the hidden door in the wall. It was the servants’ passageway, the one through which she and Mr Darcy had crept earlier—whispering like conspirators and giggling like children whenever Mr Darcy accidentally took them down the wrong corridor. And then there had been his hand on the small of her back, guiding her and ensuring that she did not stumble…

Elizabeth looked quickly away from the maid who emerged from the doorway. She was not supposed to notice the help, was she? And she certainly was not supposed to know where that door led, or how narrow the passage was, or how a man’s hair could smell like clean air and fresh meadow grass in such a closed space.

She steadied her breathing and concentrated on Jane’s voice, down below. And Billy’s, for his was the loudest of all. Apparently, the countess had decided that his position as a tutor did not preclude him from dinner at Pemberley with his cousins. It would be good to see his homely face again, to hear his silly chatter, to see him… standing beside Miss de Bourgh, with his hand on her back…

She blinked and drew a sharp breath when she realised her gaze had drifted away from Billy and back to Mr Darcy. The gentleman smiled warmly, as did the lady at his side.

“Mrs Fitzwilliam,” he greeted her, “I am pleased you could join us. Miss Bennet feared you might be overtired from your ride this afternoon.” This, he spoke with a veiled amusement, that hint of a twinkle in his eye known to all who share a secret. “I trust the exercise left you in good spirits?”

She managed a nervous dip of her head as she tried to meet Miss de Bourgh’s gaze with the open frankness of an honest person. “Indeed, sir, it did. And Miss de Bourgh, I am happy to see you again.”

“Likewise,” the lady answered generously. “I am quite satisfied to hear that you have been taking the air, Mrs Fitzwilliam. There is nothing like brisk exercise for a lady’s constitution, that is what I always say. But my dear, what a fearful colour you have in your cheeks this evening! Darcy, you must send for the doctor straight away. It might be the influenza. Mrs Fitzwilliam, pray, what cities did you travel through before coming to London? Do say it was not New York! A haven for disease, it is—I ought to know, naturally, for both times I was there, I fell ill.”

“I am sure it is nothing of the kind,” Mr Darcy pronounced, with yet another covert grin for Elizabeth. “Mrs Fitzwilliam seems to enjoy perfectly regular health, but the same cannot be said for her pastimes. I have heard rumours of her secretively playing at billiards and throwing a stick for my hounds. Anne, my dear, you would not begrudge our guest her amusement, would you?”

The lady blinked slowly, almost as if she had been taught that mannerism by the same finishing school as Miss Darcy. “Far be it from me. But you must take the most particular care for your health, my dear. Perhaps less strenuous pursuits might be in order. One in your position can never be too cautious, of course.”

Elizabeth caught the direction of Miss de Bourgh’s gaze, and her hand went unconsciously to her middle. The woman could not have meant… could she? The very nerve!

Mr Darcy’s expression had gone blank and even somewhat pale, but he collected himself admirably and turned to his fiancée with a tight smile. “I am sure Mrs Fitzwilliam appreciates your concern, my dear. Shall we all go in to dinner?”

“M ay I presume the honour?” Billy stood from his seat beside Elizabeth as the soup course was carried away. He raised his glass, and she cringed in apprehension.

“A toast,” he announced, “to the happy couple. I hope I do not overstep when I say that this evening has seen the commencement of a long-anticipated joy. We who are honoured to be in company with the blessed pair join in wishing them both the happiest and most fruitful years ahead.”

“You are very kind, Mr Collins.” Miss de Bourgh’s chin was high, and she was observing Billy with what appeared to be hearty approval.

Mr Darcy, however, was staring at his plate, and if Elizabeth were not mistaken, his ears were faintly red. He made no statement of gratitude for the benediction spoken over him and his intended—rather, he issued what amounted to little more than a grunt and a nod of acknowledgement as everyone drank.

“And may I further state—” Billy went on, blind to Jane’s imploring look—“my profound admiration for both bride and groom. Never have I been so privileged, to be welcomed so warmly and by such distinguished—oh, Cousin Elizabeth! Are you quite well?”

Elizabeth put a napkin to her mouth as she sputtered and coughed, gasping for air. Pemberley’s stock of champagne must be exceedingly strong, and she had not been prepared for it. But truthfully, what she had not been prepared for was the deep flush of mortification and the unwarranted cramping in her stomach when Billy had toasted Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Her throat had simply closed up, and then that inopportune gasp… Billy hovered uselessly above her, mercifully not talking anymore, but she had to wave him off when he started to pound helpfully on her back.

“Here, here, Mr Collins!” Lady Matlock interrupted. “Let her drink something. You will break the poor girl’s ribs carrying on so.”

Elizabeth gratefully accepted the glass of water Jane procured for her, and when she could breathe easily again, she blinked the tears from her eyes and looked round in embarrassment. The expressions of all were full of mild concern, save for Mr Darcy, who was half on his feet with a look of steel determination. His countenance relaxed at once, and he eased himself back into his chair.

“Are you well, Mrs Fitzwilliam?” he asked.

“Yes, pray forgive me. I am terribly sorry for being so disruptive.” She looked quickly down, fumbling with her napkin.

“No harm done, Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock decreed. “Now then, let us do away with this toasting business before someone else has a mishap. Ah!” she cried in pleasure when the butler opened the door, leading in a string of footmen with the main course. Everyone set to, and the conversation fell quiet for some while.

At length, the countess turned to Miss de Bourgh. “Anne, my dear, have you two lovebirds set a date yet?”

“Mr Darcy has demurred on the topic,” the lady answered, “and so I have taken it upon myself to determine the date. I desire to wed in late spring, so I have settled on the twentieth of May. Do you object, Mr Darcy?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “As you please.”

“And your wedding trip?” Lady Matlock enquired. “Pray tell me you have something delightful in mind, for I intend to take my own pleasure in hearing of your travels.”

“Indeed, that is the reason for having the wedding in May. We must wait on the weather to warm, of course. It has been years since I last saw Balmoral, and naturally, we could not miss Hillsborough in Ireland. We shall spend the summer thus, and then on to Paris in September. We shall winter in Italy, of course, and perhaps if I can persuade Mr Darcy to it, we will tour a bit of India before spring.”

Mr Darcy was staring at his fiancée in mild bemusement, but he looked pointedly back to his plate without making a reply. Elizabeth watched as he carefully sliced his meat, then sliced it again, and again, until nothing but tiny cutlets littered his plate. He prodded them meditatively with his knife but did not seem inclined to eat any.

Billy, however, was nearly swooning. His eyes shone, and his voice was tight as he addressed Miss de Bourgh. “I hope my humble praise of your intent is not unwelcome. Such a broad scope, and yet, how very minute! I can see that you know each place intimately, and I cannot fathom the wonders your eyes must have seen! And to know that you, who have already cultivated such fine tastes and sampled the majesties of the globe, would choose these destinations as deserving of mention on your wedding tour—why, Miss de Bourgh, I shall know where I will be bound first, if ever I have the opportunity.”

He might well have gone on, but Elizabeth kicked his foot under the table. Billy flinched noticeably enough to distract Mr Darcy’s attention from his plate, but Miss de Bourgh, at whom Billy’s adoration had been directed, only inclined her head with a pleased smile.

“You are exceedingly kind, Mr Collins. Your generous words shall not be wasted, for I had not yet informed Mr Darcy of my desires. Perhaps he will be moved by your praise, for you see, my betrothed does not share my passion for travel.”

“I do not,” he agreed. “Therefore, I suggest we speak of any such plans without an audience to the discussion.”

“Very wise, Darcy,” Lady Matlock said. “For we all know who will truly prevail in the end, and no man wishes to lose face in public.”

A ripple of laughter arose from the table, but Elizabeth did not join in. Neither, she noted, did Mr Darcy.

A n idea, once planted, often extends roots and takes on life, and a worry, once conceived, frequently gnaws away at the heart. Darcy watched Mrs Fitzwilliam that evening with grave concern. Anne was, indeed, correct, for his young guest’s countenance bore a rosy hue that had not been nearly so noticeable a month ago. He began ticking the calendar off on his fingers under the table at dinner.

She had married Richard in April, that much he knew. And Richard had shipped off not long after, so she would be five months gone by now. She had never shown any signs, and her figure had not changed appreciably… No! It was impossible. A silly notion, really.

Ah, but then, he recalled Lady Matlock’s first indisposition, and how the woman had merely laced her stays tighter to preserve her rather impressive vanity. Her maidenly figure had been slow to alter, and none but her own household had an inkling for six months. But Mrs Fitzwilliam, she possessed none of Lady Matlock’s affectations.

No, he settled with himself. She was no peacock. She would not conceal that , of all things… although she did seem to be possessed of a number of secrets. His thoughts thus preoccupied, he went quietly to his billiards room to duel himself into submission, long after others were abed.

This dinner party had been ill-advised. The thought rang in his ears each time he paced around the table to line up another shot. He had been resigned to Anne; truly he had been. For mercy’s sake, she was among his oldest friends, and with her, he would never suffer certain brands of misery that so often plagued the marriages of their level of society. She was strident and opinionated at times, but he would take that over a mouse any day. And he could bear letting her quench her thirst for travel now and again, although he would have curtailed that honeymoon she spoke of by at least half. Or more.

It was when she stood in the same room as Elizabeth that something in his being had shrunk in childish dread of marriage to her. He could not even say precisely why—it was not as if he understood enough about Mrs Fitzwilliam to be able to compare her character. Where did her hopes lie? What brought her peace and joy? A man ought to know those things about a woman before considering spending his life with her.

Anne, he knew. All too well, he knew, but though her heart did not beat in rhythm with his, he had determined long ago that he could bear the mismatch. Apart from any disunity in their personalities, marriage to her came with the promise of social stability. Approval. Nothing risked.

The balls cracked with finality as he dropped the last, then stood back leaning on his cue to survey the empty table. Perhaps that was just his problem. There was little adventure in his life. He had taken the safe path, the expected route, at each possible turning. He was a Darcy, after all—it was in his blood.

But there was something when he was around Elizabeth that felt nearly electrifying. He could not quite call her foolhardy, but her life was one of caution flung asunder as it suited her. And yet, under that wild and rambling spirit, there was some deep root anchoring her to earthy things. Simple things, like a windswept field or a newborn calf. Anne would never…

He gave a jerk of the rod in his hand, as if acting his own schoolmaster and shaking it over his head in admonition. It was all vanity, anyway. He could fool himself all day if he chose, trying to protest that if there was one of Mrs Fitzwilliam’s variety in the world, there might be more—perhaps he ought not settle too quickly. Even before his mind whispered the subterfuge, he shot it down.

It was no longer the prospect of “someone different” that was keeping him from contentment with Anne. It was Elizabeth—who was as unavailable as a woman could be. It was madness even to permit the shadows of her to haunt his thoughts.

Besides, he had made a promise to Anne.