Page 26 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)
Chapter 26
Wyoming May 1900
“W hat will happen now?”
Elizabeth shivered, hugging her shawl more tightly over her shoulders as she implored her uncle to give some response. Jane, seated beside her, was leaning heavily upon their aunt, and holding a small block from the icehouse to her cheek.
Mr Gardiner thrust his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat and glanced to the colonel, who stood nearby in silent observance. They, along with the sheriff and the mayor, had come at once when Kitty had burst into the mayor’s house screaming for help… but it had not been soon enough.
Elizabeth had been left alone to watch Jake Bryson thrashing and groaning, his blood forever tainting her hands. There had been nothing she could do for him, even after she overcame her fury and revulsion—and, yes, her fear—to examine his wound. His last word had been a curse, and it was her face his eyes fixed upon when they froze forever.
And then, still alone, she had patted Jane’s cheeks and begged her sister to awaken, to not be another tragedy added to this night. Ten minutes passed—long enough for the terror to sink into her heart at what almost happened and for the horror to dawn fully upon her of what did happen.
She clenched her eyes now, wishing she could burn those images away. Wishing she had never left the house, never thought to go after stupid, stupid Lydia. Wishing she had never heard Jake Bryson’s name, and that he were somewhere else; whole and well and entirely unaware of her existence.
It was the colonel who eventually answered Elizabeth’s question, though not without first waiting for her uncle to make some response. “The sheriff has gone to speak with Mr Silas Bryson, Jake’s father, to acquaint him with the situation. I have sent Corporal Denny out to the corrals to bring your father—I thought you would want him near.”
Elizabeth nodded a numb sort of gratitude. “But what of the… am I to be hanged?”
“Of course not, Lizzy!” objected her uncle at once. “It was self-defence, clear and simple. Even the mayor said as much earlier. You are not the first girl Bryson tried to… well, no one will doubt your story.”
The colonel cleared his throat and shifted, looking at the floor.
Elizabeth gave voice to what must have been in his thoughts. “Bryson had no weapon in his hand.”
“True,” her uncle agreed. “It may not have been in his hand, but he was not unarmed. And against a man of his strength, who can blame a woman for seeking to protect herself?”
“His father most certainly will.”
“Come, Lizzy, surely you have nothing to fear,” soothed her aunt. “Kitty and Jane saw it all. Certainly their accounts will clear your name of any suspicion.”
The colonel’s eyes raised from the floor to meet Elizabeth’s, and she saw his lips thin. She blinked, lowered her head, and nodded—he, at least, seemed to grasp something of the precariousness of her position.
“I am afraid that is precisely the trouble, Mrs Gardiner,” he said. “Miss Kitty testified that she never even saw Mr Bryson’s face before she comprehended some danger to her sister and ran for help. Miss Jane’s last memory before being knocked unconscious was of Mr Bryson merely holding an arm around Miss Elizabeth. Neither can pay witness to the moment of crisis.”
“Of course not!” cried Mr Gardiner. “For if they had been there to see, Lizzy would not have been forced to fight him off alone! And what of him striking, nearly killing poor Jane? Is that not proof enough of his vicious proclivities? And the… er, the state of his attire… plain evidence of his intent!”
“I believe Miss Elizabeth will have the sympathy of every reasonable person in town, but who is to say that those in authority will be reasonable? Bryson’s father is a man of some position and authority in the area, from what I gather, and I doubt he will take his son’s death lightly.”
Elizabeth hid her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. “I never meant to kill him!”
“Of course, you did not, Lizzy,” her aunt crooned. “You were not even facing him! How could you know where your little derringer was pointed?”
The colonel looked uncomfortable again, and he glanced at Elizabeth. “With all due respect, Mrs Gardiner, she fired the weapon. It will not matter if she could not properly see where it was pointed. She is responsible for the result, justified or no.”
“It’s true,” Mr Gardiner lamented. “But we have an understanding about self-defence in this state. If Lizzy’s life or safety were in danger, she had the legal right to protect herself.”
The colonel nodded graciously towards Mr Gardiner. “Let us pray that is sufficient.”
18 November 1900 Matlock, Derbyshire
D ear all of you,
What a way to address a letter! I would have listed each of you by name, but I would have run out of ink, and no doubt caused some rift by mentioning one person last or another one first. This poor letter is not worth squabbling over. Thus, you are all “dear.”
I hope you received my last letter and the photograph safely. Was not the countess kind in having two copies made? Billy is very much hoping that Uncle will display one of them in the General Store, so everyone may see him in his dapper new suit with that stylish eyepiece, but I believe it best if the photograph is kept discreet. How I wish I had a similar memento of each of you, so I might treasure your dear faces whenever I think of you!
Mary, I was delighted to hear that John Lucas has officially asked to court you. He is a fine fellow, and I hope I shall hear happy news before spring. Kitty and Lydia, I am sorry there has been so little entertainment for you of late. I trust you will receive this before Christmas, so I hope the winter fashion plates I included will be of interest. I wish I could send you some of the sugar mice that are so much favoured here, but Mrs Reynolds did tell me how they are made. I will include the instructions, and perhaps you can amuse yourselves by attempting them.
Mama, your new dress sounds positively exquisite. Such fine lacework must be a pleasure to look upon and even greater to wear. It is a pity I never learned the knack of making it! Aunt and Uncle, I am sending a clipping from the Daily Mail that might interest you. It has just been announced that the 1904 Olympiad will be held in the United States. I had never heard of it before, because it is quite new, and every event so far has been held in Europe. Every four years, they mean to host an international Games, such as Boxing and footraces. It is quite the thing, and perhaps one day we will get to see it.
Papa, I have saved this bit for you. Mr Darcy found a poem he thought you might enjoy, and he wrote it in his own hand for you out of a book in his collection. It is called “Cowper’s Grave,” and the authoress’ name amuses me greatly, for it is Elizabeth Barrett Browning. How remarkably similar to my own!
I am afraid I can no longer put off writing this next bit. We have had news from the front at last, and it is the very worst kind. I shall ever remember Richard Fitzwilliam as a man who gave more than he received, a man noble to his last breath. He is greatly mourned by his family, and I know you each have your reasons for grieving the loss of him, though you did know him so little. He has left a void in my own life that is impossible to describe, for I know few others who can claim such a brief, and yet such a generous relationship with their husband. I never even called him by that word, but I will spend the rest of my days honouring the man I hardly knew.
As expected, the news has brought about a change in my circumstances, but not such a drastic one as I would have imagined. Jane and I had already been invited to be the guests of the earl and the countess, rather than the Darcys. We have been here a week now, and it does seem as if the dowager—the sternest woman in the world, or so she would have us all think—finds some relief when I sit with her. She occasionally asks me to read to her, but after a few less than stellar performances, she no longer wishes for me to help with her needlework or to play for her. Yes, I play the piano now, but badly. My only distinction as a pianist is that I have taught all the earl’s dogs to howl to a new pitch.
Billy is sublimely content here at Matlock, and he claims to be even happier now that Jane and I have come from Pemberley. He is still officially employed as a tutor to the earl’s son, but I believe the pair spends more time reading peerage journals and studying travel articles than parsing sentences or learning arithmetic. He announced five days ago that he intended to grow a moustache, and eagerly asks us each morning for our approbation of his new feature. Jane is kinder than I, for I said plainly that I saw only pale fuzz until this morning, when it looked more like a chocolate smear.
Speaking of Jane, she is enclosing her own letter to you, but I shall take a guess at its contents. Before you become concerned about this Mr Bingley she has tumbled head over boots for, I will say he is a good man who seems to adore her even more than she does him, if that is possible. I do not imagine they will be long in coming to the point, but that raises one or two sobering thoughts. I know she had always meant to come home, and certainly, you had every expectation of seeing her again. Fortunately, Mr Bingley possesses the resources to do as he likes, and at present, what he ‘likes’ is pleasing Jane, but I cannot say more of what the future will hold.
I do not imagine I will remain at Matlock long. Richard’s family has been everything kind to me, but the great unspoken truth is that this is not my place. I know nothing of their society, and I still frequently misstep. Miss Darcy recently confessed that when I first came, she and Anne de Bourgh staked a private bet—not whether I will cause a great scene if I ever go to London with them, but how spectacular it will be. I know I do not belong, and I cannot abide the thought of forever being the dependent hanger-on of a family who bears with me only because their son and brother was as reckless as he was kind.
I have broached the subject with the countess more than once, asking if she knows of any situation or employment prospect that might suit me, but she cannot fathom why I would consider it. Moreover, I do not think a woman of her circumstances would necessarily be the best source of such information, so I shall continue my quest until I have found an answer, or at least, a safe harbour.
My heart aches to come home. I shall not dwell on the maudlin, lest I cry again and smudge this page I have laboured so long over, but it bears at least one admission. I would cut off all my hair, stain my skin with tanner’s dye and disfigure my face if I thought it might permit me to come safely back to you. However, I would not have you think I spend all my days in a depression, for it is not so, and I do not wish for you to sorrow on my behalf. I miss each of you as if a part of my soul has been ripped away, but I am slowly finding the means to exist, and perhaps someday thrive here. I am among friends, different as they are from myself. One of them, in particular, has spared no trouble in securing my happiness and welfare, has inspired my mind and spirit to keep setting one foot before the other, and has become irreplaceable in my heart. So, you see, I am not quite so rootless and cast out as I was a few months ago.
I will write again soon, and I hope by then I will have some word from you as well. For now, I sit at the window beside my bed, gazing through frosted glass into a crystal-clear sky at a moon that hangs low and heavy, and I comfort myself by thinking of you doing the same. All my dear ones, I shall simply say “Good night,” instead of “Yours Truly” “Sincerely,” or any such nonsense. Sweet dreams.
Elizabeth
“D arcy!” Matlock held up a hand as Darcy was stepping down from the coach, a warning look in his eye and a conspiratorial tip to his head. “Look sharp before you go into the house, and beware my wife. Oh, good afternoon, Georgiana,” he offered as an aside. “You will find the others all in Lady Matlock’s sitting room.”
Georgiana gave Darcy a look of some amused pique before she left them and proceeded into the house. Darcy watched her go, then turned back to his cousin. “Lady Matlock? Have I offended her?”
“If by ‘offended,’ you mean ‘not satisfied her unquenchable thirst for romance and excitement,’ then yes. The moment she heard you and Georgiana were coming for a few days, she brought in a dressmaker and started making inquiries after a portrait artist.”
“An artist? Whatever for?”
“Why, to ‘create a life-sized image’ of Anne to ‘grace your study’ by ‘capturing the fair lady’s impeccable figure and fine eyes.’”
Darcy felt a cynical crease growing on his forehead. “I have no complaints about Anne’s looks, but her figure is not impeccable, and her eyes could never be called fine. I certainly do not need an entire wall devoted to nothing more than Lady Matlock’s romantic sensibilities.”
“Well, that is to be the least of your trials today. My wife has gathered every female for three miles around, and they are all clustered over a table with stacks of fashion plates and clippings, and heaven knows what else. She has grand ambitions of planning your entire wedding, your wedding tour, your nursery staff, and the first ten years of your child's life, all this evening.”
Darcy grimaced. “I have no intention of discussing wedding plans, but if I did, I would not mean it to be a public affair.”
“A bit too late for that. I walked in on them earlier, and she has Mother, Anne, Jane, and Elizabeth all closeted with half a dozen maids and the dressmaker. In the interest of self-preservation, man, let us go shooting. We can be gone all afternoon, and such muddy, filthy mongrels when we return that they will have to leave us be.”
Darcy laughed. “While I cannot deny the appeal, Georgiana and I came to speak with living, breathing people.”
“Pemberley a little lonely these days?”
“We had become accustomed to company, yes. Are you not planning a journey to London soon?”
“I ought to. Plenty of affairs needing my attention, especially those to do with the War Office and my solicitor, but I could not bring myself to it just yet. Will you come with me? I could use a travelling companion, and surely you have been invited to any number of parties and soirées. Might be a perfect opportunity to show off your soon-to-be-bride on your arm.”
“No, I have travelled enough of late. Georgiana and I intend to pass a quiet season at Pemberley, and I wondered if others might not be disposed to the same this year. But what of the countess? She has always favoured London during the Season.”
“Not this year. She has got some business in her head about keeping my new sister occupied and distracted. I have decided not to protest any expenditure or measure she decrees necessary for our Elizabeth’s amusement, because it keeps us here. No lavish parties, no new wardrobe or opening the London house. By my conservative estimates, Sheila’s reluctance to go to Town has saved me over ￡1000.”
The appropriate response to the earl’s jest would have been to laugh, but Darcy had turned pensive. He had supposed that the earl and countess would go to London, as they always did, and that their guests—that Elizabeth, who was theoretically in mourning—might remain, and perhaps even return to Pemberley for a while.
“What is this, Darcy?” the earl chided. “You look disapproving all of a sudden. I say, if you think me irreverent, I was only trying to lighten your mood. We all do as we can, and I have had enough of brooding in a dark room over events I could not control.”
“Forgive me—it was of no consequence. I only thought of something. Reginald, how do your guests get on? I mean Elizabeth, specifically. Has she been in good spirits?”
“Good enough, I suppose. She never appears downcast, but after what you said of her, I expected a bit more liveliness. She keeps to her rooms a great deal.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes. “She does?”
“I suppose it is natural, after all. Oh, but she did go riding Saturday last, after your coachman arrived with that mare she is so fond of.”
“I hoped the mare would cheer her.”
“Indeed, in more ways than one, I think. When she said she was going out, Anne asked for a horse to be saddled and rode with her. I thought that a fine thing for my sister, a bit of female companionship to cheer her, but she has never mentioned going out since then. Perhaps she is more of a fair-weather sort of rider.”
Darcy did not answer. He was staring at his boots as they entered the house, turning certain thoughts over in his mind which he could not dare give.
G eorgiana had already disappeared into the drawing-room, the bastion of femininity for the day. Darcy accepted his cousin’s offer of more gentlemanly refreshment, a glass of port in the study. Reginald claimed if they were not going hunting, then he had correspondence to answer and half a dozen affairs with his steward to oversee. He excused himself after only half an hour, leaving Darcy to his own devices.
He lingered in the hall, wondering if he ought to pay his respects to the ladies, or if he would do better to remain safely outside. He bristled with curiosity about Elizabeth, itching to ask how she was really faring in her new residence. Hopefully, he had done the right thing in encouraging her to accept the countess’s invitation.
But rather than Elizabeth, the woman he “ought” to be longing to see was Anne. Well, she was probably in no hurry to see him—at least not just now. It was supposed to be bad luck for the groom to know much about the dress, was it not? But still, it was not as if his casual glances could inform him of all the ladies were scheming. Surely, it was entirely fitting for him to at least look into the room. Only for a moment… merely to see if she was smiling today.
Just when he had taken two steps in that direction, Elizabeth herself came round the corner from the stairwell behind him. Her hands were full of ribbon, and she looked to be hurrying, but she stopped short when she saw him. That instant of recognition transformed her features from wooden to ethereal. Downcast eyes suddenly dazzled, and firmly set lips blossomed into a welcoming smile.
“William! I heard you were coming today, but I did not know you were here yet.”
“We came nearly an hour ago. Georgiana has been in the countess’s sitting room since the moment we arrived—were you not with the others all this time?”
“No.” Her cheeks flamed, and she made some excuse with her shoulders. “I-I was upstairs… looking for something.”
“For the countess, or your own pleasure?”
“For whoever likes it, I suppose.” She held up her hands and showed him. “It was a bit of ribbon I bought in London last summer. It was the same day you came to our hotel—we had been out taking in the sights, and I liked the colour.”
He smiled as he admired it. “Lavender. I might have guessed. May I?”
She allowed him to take it, and he stroked the satiny softness of it then held it up beside her cheek. “The colour suits you.”
She reddened still further. “I meant to suggest it for Miss de Bourgh. The countess was trying to persuade her to a yellow…”
Darcy folded the ribbon back over his thumb and lowered it. “Yellow, for one of Anne’s complexion? Your suggestion is the superior choice, but I still say the colour is better suited to you than to her. Why have you never done anything with it?”
Her chin lowered, but her eyes still linked to his as the corner of her mouth shyly turned up. “I do not need more bonnets. Someone very generous supplied more than I could have ever asked for.”
He laughed quietly and gave the ribbon back to her. “I hope you will save this for yourself instead of giving it away. It would look… very fetching on you.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you been well? My cousin tells me you have been rather quiet lately.”
Her eyes flashed to his, and her smile became somewhat less warm. “Oh… merely… taking stock of things, I suppose.” Her brow wrinkled, then she brightened. “I sent a letter to my family last week. I am hoping it will arrive before Christmas, but I have not received anything for over a month.”
“And when a letter does come, it will probably come to Pemberley. Fear not, Elizabeth, for if a letter arrives from your family, I will put it on my fastest horse to bring it here for you.”
She chuckled. “Thank you, William.” She tipped her head to the door of the sitting room. “Should we go in to the others?”
“Do you think it is safe?”
“Why would it not be?”
He leaned close to murmur in her ear— ah, yes, she still smelled the same. “I did not wish to be driven off with pitchforks and torches.”
She giggled. “I think you are safe if you follow me,” she whispered back.
“Then, under thy banner, I shall march, Fair Lady. Pray, lead on.” He gestured with his arm, just as he always did. The way she turned and waited, glancing over her shoulder, and almost permitting him to scoop her along, shot a tremor through his stomach. It could not be… No, he had to be imagining it.
They walked in almost musical accord; she leading the way, but still seemingly deferring to his guidance. He held the door for her, and she playfully sashayed under his arm. “You have to promise to close your eyes until I tell you it is safe.”
He stood inside the door, probably grinning like an idiot, his eyes closed but his ears and his senses alert.
“Miss de Bourgh?” he heard Elizabeth say. “May I present a gallant knight who begs to wait upon his lady’s pleasure?”
“Gallant knight?” Anne answered in bemusement. “Why, it is only Darcy, and he is not a knight. My father was. I thought I had explained titles to you, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
Somewhere to his left, he was certain he heard Georgiana snicker, and Elizabeth’s voice sounded artificially subdued when she answered, “Oh, dear, I must have forgotten. Is it quite safe for Mr Darcy to come in?”
“About time he did, I should say,” the dowager replied. “And what was keeping you, Elizabeth? We have looked for you this hour past. Poor child, I do hope you have not been out of sorts.”
Darcy was approaching by now, and did not miss the uncomfortable twinge that passed over Elizabeth’s face before it smoothed and she replied, “Not at all, my lady.”
“Good, good. Oh, Darcy, we want your opinion about the Rector. Now if you marry at Saint James’, you could have Joseph McCormick perform the ceremony. He was so famous at Cricket; do you not think that would draw a fine audience? Oh, not to mention he is the Queen’s own chaplain, of course, so that would be some distinction. Now, about the date—”
Darcy made a silent groan in his throat. He tried to catch Anne’s attention to see if his betrothed made any objections to their wedding becoming a society circus, but she only listened to the countess’s plans and nodded, as if bored. Occasionally, he noticed some stirring from Elizabeth, as her eyes would dart to the window and she would fidget somewhat. Whenever he caught her, she would look dutifully to the countess again.
There was nothing for it but to listen politely and agree with everything the countess proposed. Each time she stopped and asked his opinion, he gave it earnestly, but more often than not, she already had her own idea and merely desired him to repeat it. He did not go near the table covered with fashion plates himself. Even if there had been room for him between Georgiana, the countess, the dowager, and Jane Bennet all crowding around, his input would be neither helpful nor welcome.
“Elizabeth, why are you hanging back by the tea cart?” the countess asked at length. “Here, tell me what you think of this skirt pattern. Anne approves, but I think our Anne would wear sackcloth to the altar just to have it over and done with.”
“Sackcloth?” Anne protested. “I am not racing to the church, and I do not mean to arrive in anything distasteful. Honestly, Sheila, you do imagine the most absurd notions, and then represent them as fact.”
“Not at all, Anne,” the countess sallied. “The trouble is, you have no appreciation for a bit of ribbing. I am only in jest—Elizabeth and Jane understand me, do you not?” she asked of the latter two.
“Of course, my lady,” Elizabeth replied, “but it is perfectly reasonable for Miss de Bourgh to address the matter of her wedding with all seriousness.”
“Oh, very well,” the Lady Matlock sighed. “If we are to be so staid and humourless, do you not think Anne would look fetching with a half-sleeve? Your sister suggested lace just over the bottom edges here, and Georgiana favours a bit of green ribbon at the seams of her travelling cape. And she must have a white hat, as I hear those will be all the fashion next summer.”
Elizabeth leaned nearer to see the samples the countess was pointing out, then offered an approximation of a smile. To be sure, her teeth showed, and her cheeks dimpled, but there was a void somewhere behind her eyes that Darcy saw, and wondered at.
“I believe Miss de Bourgh would look lovely whatever she wore,” Elizabeth answered.
“Now, that is just what Darcy always says, but that is his excuse to avoid giving an opinion. I look for better from you. What do you think of this detail work on the puffed part of the sleeve?”
Despite Lady Matlock’s insistence, Elizabeth hung back, a dusky hint to her cheeks as she made her excuses. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I was never an expert on fashion, and surely everyone else knows far more than I.”
“Pish posh, it’s not about what you know, but what you like. You have eyes, do you not?”
“But my tastes are not the same as Miss de Bourgh’s, nor is my figure after the same style, so what I would choose would probably be just the opposite of what she would prefer.”
“Have you no imagination, child?” This time, it was the dowager who spoke. “I know that for a falsehood, after the tales you have told me. Come, the dressmaker is here and awaiting instructions.”
“You had better step in there,” Darcy urged her. “She will never let up until you do.”
Elizabeth offered him a smile of surrender, but it was nothing like the camaraderie they had enjoyed a few moments earlier. She obediently moved to the table and participated in the ensuing conversation, but she said perhaps one word to everyone else’s ten.