Page 25 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 25

Wyoming May 1900

T he back of their uncle’s building was designed for loading and unloading wagons directly from the platform. It was a deck, raised about four feet from the ground, and two large doors could slide open into the storeroom. Beside them, however, was a man-sized door, and it led to stairs down the far side of the building.

“Be quiet, Lizzy,” urged Kitty from behind as Elizabeth started for the steps. “I want to see her face when we catch her red-handed!”

Elizabeth snorted faintly but obliged her sister’s request and went up silently on her toes. Once up the steps, she hurried to the door and began searching her pocket for the key. Jane held back, or at least Elizabeth did not hear her coming behind right away. In another moment, it would not have mattered.

A shape moved on the deck, from among the empty barrels near the building. Elizabeth did not see it until it was too late, and the form was upon her. A long arm snaked about her chest from behind, close enough to choke her if desired. A hot voice shivered into her ear as one hand slid up and down her waist.

“There you are, Miss Lydia. Thought you’d never come after all, but you promised you would, and I knew you were the sort of girl who wouldn’t break a promise.”

Elizabeth cocked her elbow and threw it backwards at the scoundrel’s face, for she had no trouble recognising his voice. “Jake Bryson, you devil’s spawn! Let me go!”

The arm holding her flinched, then tightened. He pushed her against the door she had just tried to unlock, grinding her cheek against the weathered wood. “Why, Miss Lizzy,” he drawled, “even better! I knew you’d come around one of these days. Wanted to beat your sister to me, eh?”

His hands wandered, and Elizabeth tried to squirm away, but he was too strong. He leaned his full weight against her, pinning her whole body to the door and locking his arm where it was. “Jane!” she cried out. “Kitty, where are you?”

Boots clambered up the steps while others shattered the gravel below, punctuated by a squeak from Kitty. Elizabeth heard her running up the street a moment later, shouting for help, but hardly anyone would be around to hear her.

Jane had gone somewhere to her left, and found a broom handle to swat at Jake’s head. Elizabeth took her chance when he was distracted and dropped her weight against the restraint of his arm, then tried to spin away. She surprised him, but not enough.

With a curse, he grabbed Jane’s broom—she had been striking him with the soft-bristled end of it—and swung the handle with full strength at her face. Elizabeth could not see what happened next, but she heard a cry of alarm from Jane, then a sickening crack as the broom handle struck her… and finally the crunching sound of dirt and rocks as Jane fell from the loading deck to the road.

Jake slammed his body against her again, banging her nose and forehead against the building as he nuzzled her ear. Panic rose in Elizabeth’s breast. He had been just distracted enough for her to begin searching her skirts for the heavy object she always kept secured to her garters, but she had not yet freed it.

“I know you really love me, Lizzy,” he purred. “Why do you gotta carry on so? I’ll show you… you just wait, it won’t hurt a bit.”

“Take your hands off me this instant!” she roared, fighting all the while against his grip. She kicked his shin with her heel, but his leg was protected by his thick boots, and he only laughed.

“Come on, Lizzy, why do you gotta be like that? Don’t worry, I like a girl with some spunk. Gives a man a good ride. You just wait a minute—”

Elizabeth recoiled as his tongue, smelling sour and stale, began to stroke her ear. She jerked to the side, freeing one hand for a moment, but not the other. Jake muttered an oath, and while one hand painfully gripped her wrist, wrenching her shoulder as he pressed her against the wall, his other unbuckled his belt.

A hundred images pierced through Elizabeth’s mind. Mary King, bruised and battered, weeping inconsolably. The painted women at the saloon, and the stories some of them had told her about how they came to work in that business. An unwilling wife, large with child, forced to wed the father….

Her right hand swept free from the folds of her skirts, and it was not empty. Jake had his trousers unbuttoned now, and his hand was free to grope her figure, her clothing.

She could not turn around, but from the corner of her eye, she could see the edge of his form, leaning low over her shoulder. She tipped her elbow high, her hand back, and pointed towards his torso.

The crack of the pistol was deafening. Elizabeth dropped the small bit of iron and clapped her hands to her ears.

She was free.

And Jake Bryson lay groaning on the loading deck, blood gushing from a hole in his chest.

Pemberley

U ntil this moment, Elizabeth had never been terrified of a man who sat absolutely still. Mr Darcy did not curl the fists already locked on his desk, nor did he stir in his seat as she relived the events of that dreadful evening. He spoke not a word. His features never flinched, she could not remember seeing him blink, and he hardly breathed, but his eyes were another matter. They were black as night, yet blazed with a wrath that turned her insides to jelly.

She finished speaking—not because she had a tidy conclusion to her tale. She merely ran out of words and courage. Still, Mr Darcy said nothing, did nothing, and for the first time in all their acquaintance, she was too frightened to look at his face. Instead, she stared at his hands on the desk, waiting for just one of them to twitch.

Eventually, he had to take a breath, and he sucked it between clenched teeth. The fresh air seemed to restore life to his body, and he carefully unfurled his fists, deliberately flexing the fingers as if seeking to control his impulses. In a slow, meditated motion, he pushed back from his desk and seemed to be searching for words.

“I know I ought to have told you this from the very first,” Elizabeth mumbled. “It was wrong of me to—”

“Wrong?” Steel inflected his tone, and his gaze had grown hard.

The final brittle thread of hope snapped in Elizabeth’s heart. She bestowed one last fond look, a farewell of sorts to their unorthodox friendship before the fateful severing, then lost her nerve and stared at the desk again.

“I know it was,” she agreed in a quavering voice. “I concealed something heinous, imposed upon your goodwill for your cousin’s sake, but now he is lost. We will go—all of us. I beg—”

“Elizabeth,” he interrupted, “you have not permitted me to have my say.”

She swallowed. “Of course. It is your right.”

He crossed his arms and studied her. “My right? You have sat there for the last quarter of an hour telling me a story that would have turned my hair white, had I lived through it! You defended yourself from something horrific, and you were forced to commit the unthinkable. And in consequence of these things, yet more trials loomed. You married a near stranger, left all you ever had, and sailed halfway around the world into a situation that was, at best, unknown, only to suffer months of nightmares and discover the only person you trusted was… was gone—and yet, you speak of my right to an opinion on the matter?”

“Why should I not? I am guilty of something so awful that people who knew me all my life would watch me hang. Yet, you took me in, afforded me your protection and no small measure of comforts. I will repay you—I’m not sure how, but when I find work—”

“Elizabeth, stop. Why are you so certain I will throw you into the hedgerows?”

Her lip pushed out, and she blinked against the sting of renewed tears. “Anyone else would.”

Measured footsteps rounded his desk, then stopped beside her. She quickly dashed the moisture from her eye—she could not bear the appearance of histrionics—and then turned her chin up to look at him.

“I am not anyone else,” he said in a voice at once kind and forceful. “I thought I was your friend.”

Her words garbled in her throat, and they escaped in little more than a whisper as her eyes filled again. “Friends do not lie to each other.”

“Unless I am mistaken, you never lied.”

“But I was not entirely honest. Is that not the same thing?”

Mr Darcy stretched to his full height and adjusted the buttons on his coat. “You are perfectly right. I wish I had known all this earlier, but not so I could turn you out.”

She tried to laugh. “Are you saying you would not have left me in that London hotel, entirely on my own, if I told you the first day we met that I was fleeing the law? Please, sir, do not make excuses for me just because—”

“Because I have seen your character since then,” he finished. “Because I have found you to be fine and strong and noble in ways others cannot even grasp at. Because if I had been in Richard’s place six months ago, I would have done precisely as he did. Yes, I wish I had known something of your trials earlier, because it might have helped me understand you better. I might have gone easier on you in those first days, trusted you sooner, and found better means of restoring your spirits. But that, as they say, is in the past now. I hope you will find me a better friend in your troubles in the future.”

Elizabeth got to her feet, staring at him in open astonishment. “I do not know what to say. I thank you—with all that I am, I thank you for believing me. You cannot know what that means.”

His lips thinned. “I can only imagine.”

She examined his face—the faint new tan lines at his temples, the weary grey under his eyes, and felt an unaccountable urge to rest her hand on his cheek. It was not sufficient to caress him with her eyes—she longed to comfort him, as he had done for her, but every means she possessed seemed either inadequate or improper.

“I am sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

His features twitched as if his mind had drifted elsewhere, and he dropped his head. “Richard was…” He drew a shaken sigh, then met her gaze. His own eyes were suddenly brimming, his mouth working helplessly. After a breath or two, he gave up and simply tightened his chin.

She did the same, trying to offer a smile of commiseration. “He was. I know.”

He nodded, looking back at her for a long moment, then reluctantly gestured towards the door. “Well… we need to speak with the earl tomorrow. I imagine Georgiana is wondering what has become of us—”

“Oh.” Elizabeth stopped, and that protective arm he always escorted her with bumped against her shoulder. “About Georgiana…”

R eginald Fitzwilliam, ninth Earl of Matlock, slumped in his chair, his hand covering his mouth and his eyes fixed like stone on the floor. “I knew it in my head, but to hear it out loud… Damn.”

“Indeed,” Darcy breathed.

“There are simply no words for something this monstrous. My only brother! You said you spoke to the general?”

Darcy nodded. “Kenny-Kelly met me in person.”

Reginald brushed his lip with a finger as he gazed thoughtfully at his father’s portrait on the far wall. “Are you not the one who warned me that was exactly what would happen? Wealthy fellow shows up in South Africa, flashing some coin and asking after a missing colonel, and they trot out someone of rank to appease him and pack him on his way?”

“I did not think they would do that for me.” Darcy answered wearily. “Not that it matters now, in any case.”

“Then, you are sure of what he told you?”

“I wish I were not. He is gone, Reginald.”

The young earl’s face sank into his palm and Darcy fell silent for a moment, allowing his cousin a moment of composure as he drew out the letter from the old earl. “This was among Richard’s belongings.” He said nothing of any other correspondence Richard had in his possession.

Reginald accepted the envelope, turned it over once or twice to inspect his father’s script, but did not open it. “I cannot read this now. In a year or two, perhaps. Darcy, what of the widow? What is to be done for her?”

“I should think we would ask her what she desires. She is not a fortune hunter.”

“Why would you suggest she is?”

“I only mean to say that she is not seeking some advantage in the connection.”

“I should hope not. Mother has taken quite a shine to her—Sheila’s words, not mine. My wife speaks of nothing else. She was quite disappointed last week, in fact, when Georgiana was so stingy with her guests. She will come and stay now, will she not? And her sister, too, of course. Unless Bingley means to carry her off first.”

Darcy hesitated. In his head, he had persuaded himself that Elizabeth would stay at Pemberley, particularly now that Richard… and with matters as they were with Georgiana… “If she is still invited to do so,” he answered carefully.

“Why should she not be? Because Richard is gone, we would not treat his wife as family?”

“I thought you were concerned about appearances. She is not from fashionable circles.”

“I am not parading her about Mayfair, am I? Besides, she will desire to live quietly enough.”

“You hardly know her.”

“I shall get to know her. She is my sister now, is she not? My duty to see her at least provided for. I doubt she would like Richard’s flat in Town, so I shall sell that. Perhaps I will set her up with that pretty little cottage down by Darley Dale. What would she think of that? Or do you think she would prefer to go back to America?”

“No,” Darcy replied quickly, “I am certain she would not.”

“Well, that is a relief. This will all be another awful blow for Mother, and I think having Richard’s widow about will be some little comfort to her, even if the girl is an American. I will have to speak to my solicitor. Is the War Office getting up a death certificate, then?”

Darcy stirred, uncomfortable with Reginald’s sudden business-like manner, but knowing his cousin was only doing his duty. He was the earl, and all fell to him. “I would assume, but I heard nothing of that.”

Reginald nodded. “I will need that to carry on. His widow will inherit some interest there… although it is a bloody shame there is no son to pass it to.”

Darcy gave a broken snort and shook his head. “Yes, a pity. But easier on the widow, no doubt.”

“How does she bear up, Darcy?”

“As you might expect. No, perhaps I ought to explain that. I have noted in her before a tendency to ignore or defy her troubles. She may appear to you perfectly well, but do not assume that she is not struggling with shadows of the past, merely because she is able to laugh in the midst.”

Reginald raised his brows. “How very singular. A woman not devoted to ceaseless melancholy? Not very fashionable at all.”

“She is fond of exercise,” Darcy added, almost as he imagined an excessively affectionate mother might importune the headmaster when her darling child is sent off to school. “And of reading. I often discover her in the library, but most often, she finds it soothing to be outdoors. She will plunder your gardens and haunt your stables until the coachman is obliged to send her back to the house for tea time. Oh, and you had better let me give up my polo mare for her pleasure, or she will commandeer and spoil one of yours. I tried riding that mare again myself, and she nearly pitched me over her ears because she likes her new rider so well.”

Reginald laughed. “I will heed your advice. Did she come with you today?”

“Yes, Lady Matlock is entertaining her in the drawing-room.”

“And my mother?”

“Not that I saw.”

Reginald sighed. “Well, you had better come with me. I do not relish telling Mother the final word about Richard in any circumstance, but even less do I cherish the idea of doing it alone.”

“E lizabeth? Are you in there?”

Georgiana’s voice at the door to her room surprised Elizabeth, but the girl’s face when she answered was an even greater shock. Her features were meek and repentant, but her face was smooth, not as one recently reduced to tears.

“May I come in?” she asked.

Elizabeth stepped aside. “Of course, please.”

Georgiana glanced around the room, with its open trunk and scattered articles of clothing, as if trying to decide what to do with herself. She was carrying some papers and seemed at first as though she would simply present them and leave, but then she looked Elizabeth in the eye. “I came to apologise.”

“Apologise?” Elizabeth moved to the sofa and gestured for Georgiana to seat herself. “For what?”

The girl rolled her eyes—the faintest glimmer of a tear shining in the corner—and scoffed. “What do I not need to apologise for? I do not think I have spoken a kind word to you since you came here.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Have you just come from a conversation with your brother?”

“Yes, but I meant to speak to you, anyway. I have been thinking. You really saved me, Elizabeth. I still cannot credit how stupid I was.”

“We are often stupid in the pursuit of our own wishes,” Elizabeth said wistfully. “You are not unique.”

“But I did know better.” Georgiana’s gaze was firm, her words not to be gainsaid. “I did. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I think some secret part of me wanted to disgrace my brother at that point. I would not have cared until after it was too late.”

“Why? You cannot tell me you wished for Mr Wickham to hurt you. That would be insanity, and I do not believe that.”

“Not hurt me, no. I never thought he would act like that. You must understand, I have known George Wickham since I was a child. He was a favourite of my father’s, and he and William were even friends until some falling out after my father’s death. At least, I thought they were friends. William just told me some things I did not know, but until that day in the orangery, I never would have suspected him capable of anything like what he tried to do. I doubt I would have believed William if he had told me sooner.”

“My goodness! What did he do?”

“He said when Father died, Mr Wickham tried to insist upon an establishment in the local parish from my father’s will. He even threatened a legal complaint if my brother refused to honour that bequest, but as it turns out, it was conditional only, and he had not satisfied the terms. Can you imagine, that bounder wished to be a clergyman! Like your own cousin, that Collins fellow. I have no great faith in the clergy, for so many of the ones I have known seem only to worship themselves instead of God, but at least your cousin is harmless. I cannot say that for George.”

Elizabeth’s mouth worked, and she made two or three false starts at some kind of response. “I am sorry you discovered his nature in such a terrible fashion,” she said finally. “At least no real harm was done, was there? You were mostly unhurt, and there do not seem to be any rumours or scandals.”

Georgiana’s exhale at this statement was heavy and shaken. “Oh, but it could have been so much worse. William told me also… he has kept informed of Mr Wickham’s activities in the last five years, and what he told me…”

Elizabeth gripped the girl’s hand. “What is it?”

“Ah.” She swallowed. “He has become involved with a terrible man—group of men, really. Criminals. William thinks they trade in black market opium, and that Mr Wickham sometimes takes jobs transporting it.”

Elizabeth felt the hair standing on the back of her neck. “ What? ”

Georgiana shuddered again. “I cannot begin to imagine what he truly intended to do with me.”

Elizabeth stared, and her voice was fragile as glass when she spoke. “Your brother must have been outraged when he heard of it! How terrifying! Was he very harsh with you?”

Georgiana laughed brokenly. “I thought he would be. I thought I would be sent to a convent or have all my privileges and pin money stripped away and sent to the orphans. I thought he would have me ladling soup in a poorhouse or laundering sheets for the charity school, or something of that kind.”

“What did he do?”

Georgiana’s brow knit. “It was the strangest thing. He gave me a hug.”

Elizabeth blinked. “A… a hug? Is that all?”

“No, that was just the beginning. I think he was weeping, but do not repeat that. He said nothing to me that first night, just embraced me until I was a sobbing fool myself, and said we would speak of it the next day. This afternoon he called me into his library and asked me what I would like to do.

“I did not understand. I thought at first, he was giving me an ultimatum, forcing me to choose my own punishment. Father used to do that when I was very little. I would always pick the harshest punishment, because if I chose something too mild, I would get a second round of something worse.”

“But that was not what Mr Darcy wanted?”

“No. He asked me what I wished to do with myself. ‘These days,’ he said, ‘times are changing. Before long, they’ll give women the vote, and they will be owning businesses and making names for themselves,’ he said. He asked me if I had other ambitions—you know, ambitions that did not involve endangering myself or disgracing my family.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “And had you?”

Georgiana frowned. “No. It saddened me to admit that, but I could not think of anything suitable.”

“You have always wished to travel.”

“But I do not, really. I am not like Anne, who can hardly bear to be in one place more than a month. I only wanted to go because my friends were there, and it seemed more exciting than staying here. I would have been my own mistress for once, I suppose.”

“There must be something. What if you studied music abroad?”

Georgiana’s mouth puckered, and she hesitated. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, what are you going to do, now that…”

“Oh.” Elizabeth sighed. “I do not know. Your brother and your cousin have been kinder than I deserve, but I do not think I can live off their charity the rest of my life. I am grateful for their hospitality for now at least, but I expect I will need to strike out on my own, sooner rather than later.”

“But did you never have any ambitions in life? Nothing that inspires you?”

Elizabeth gazed at the far wall, and her eyes misted for a moment. “My father and I used to read poetry together. Cowper was his favourite.”

“Ah, yes. I have seen you with that little book of poems. Will you believe it, I used to mock you in my heart because it was so thin and worn, and you seemed to read the same old book over and over. You see what a shrew I really am.”

Elizabeth giggled. “You are perfectly irredeemable.”

Georgiana lifted her shoulders, accepting it as both insult and jest. “I know. I hope this might pass as something of a penance, though.” She held up the pages she had brought with her.

Elizabeth looked them over. “Piano music? You are either incurably optimistic about my abilities, or you mean to torment not only me, but the countess and the earl and anyone else unfortunate enough to listen.”

Georgiana grinned; the first time she had ever looked so sincere. “I wrote this especially for one of your… talents. The notes are simple, and the melody is informal and easy to master. If you abuse the timing or cross the notes, you should still be able to recover. And look, just one flat.”

Elizabeth’s face grew warm with delight as she looked at the music. “You wrote this yourself? For me?”

The girl flicked a shoulder. “It only took an hour. The key to this piece is not so much technique, but your mood. I thought it suited your personality—I called it the Butterfly Waltz.”

Elizabeth held it to her chest. “I shall treasure it and practice daily—or at least until I am implored to stop.”

Georgiana laughed. “I expect I will be at hand to hear you often enough. William was just saying that he meant for us to be often at Matlock.”

“He said that?” Elizabeth’s heart squeezed pleasantly.

“Yes, of course. Anne is staying there, too, and they will be preparing for the wedding.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth echoed, but her voice sounded hollow.