Page 31 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 31

Wyoming May 1900

“Y ou are leaving us, Colonel?”

Richard glanced up from the counter where he had been looking over the last of his account at the mercantile with Mrs Gardiner. Her husband had now appeared at her side, and he wore the same tired, anxious expression from the previous night.

“I’m to report to the South African front,” he confirmed. “I had protested this assignment, more vigorously than I care to admit, and it seems that someone must have pulled some strings for me almost before I had left the country.” He graced Gardiner with a tight smile. “Although now that I am here, I confess I am not eager to depart so soon.”

“I understand, sir.” Gardiner heaved a long sigh and made a visible effort at focusing his gaze on the ledger in his wife’s hands. He appeared to have little success.

“If I may, sir… how does Miss Elizabeth this afternoon?”

Gardiner exchanged glances with his wife. “It does not look good. Silas Bryson is causing trouble. I just came from the sheriff’s office, and if my suspicions are correct, he has something to do with the rumours flying about Lizzy.”

“Rumours already? What are they saying?”

“Everything I feared, and then some. They say she had set her cap for Jake as soon as her father lost the ranch. Many are claiming to have overheard Elizabeth teasing and flirting with him for months. Lizzy!”

Richard snorted in disgust. “She teases everyone—it is her way, but I never saw her encourage him. Far from it, in fact.”

“Most would agree with you,” Gardiner nodded. “But unfortunately, not all. Some accused her of loose ways in general.”

“What!”

“It is true, though. It might surprise you to know that some were jealous of the attention she has always garnered, and were eager to slander her good name with tales of wanton behaviour. Apparently, someone took notice of how many men she danced with last week—far more than the other ladies in town, unfortunately. There was even a whispered report that someone once saw her lift her skirt in the street at some passing men.”

“Probably to put her foot in a stirrup! And I am afraid I am to blame for the number of her dance partners, for I had taken it upon myself to see that she was never left alone with Bryson for long. How could everyone else not see that?”

Gardiner shrugged. “It’s an ill wind that blows no good. Would that she had some acknowledged beau before all of this, who could put these rumours to rest with a timely offer of marriage.”

Richard tilted his head quizzically as a door slammed from the back of the building.

“I have already tried.” Collins pushed open the swinging door from the storeroom with a melancholy shake of his head. “Alas, she rejected me!”

Gardiner rolled his eyes at Richard. “Billy, you couldn’t be her beau, even if you were the last man in the world.”

“I beg your pardon, but are you not her cousin?” Richard interjected.

“Once removed!”

“Forget it, Billy. The only hope of success on that point would be to find a gent she has previously favoured—one with whom she has been seen to enjoy herself in public. The only man around to truly show as much interest in her as Bryson—one whose attentions she was not attempting to escape—is….” Gardiner broke off suddenly, clearing his throat and swiping at some imaginary dust on the counter.

Mrs Gardiner forced a smile. “Well, Colonel, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your train is tomorrow? I do hope you keep well in Africa. I suppose it will be too much to hope for word of your safety?”

“Safety?” He blinked. “Oh… er… no, I suppose it would. I expect this is farewell, Mrs Gardiner.”

“Ah,” Collins raised his hand, as if he were a lad in the schoolroom attempting to win the master’s favour. “If, ah, if you are ever again in London, do you think I impose on you to send me a bit of a souvenir?”

“A… a souvenir. All the way from London?”

Collins was grinning sheepishly and tapping the fingers of both hands together in a pleading gesture. “Oh! A mere trifle would suffice. A handbill, perhaps, or a card from Hatchard’s? You see, I am unlikely to ever journey there myself, so….”

Richard nodded shortly. “I will see what I can do. Look out for Miss Elizabeth, will you?”

And with that simple transaction, those parting promises exchanged, Richard took his leave of that dusty little town.

Matlock December 1900

“C ousin Elizabeth! Cousin Jane! My fair cousins, we have news!”

Elizabeth put her head out of the door Billy had been rapping on, her hand still holding her dressing gown closed. “You do not need to sound so formal, Billy. What is it, word from London?”

He held aloft a thick envelope, crossed over with numerous markings and looking as if it had endured more than one wetting. “From Wyoming.”

Jane gasped in joy, but Elizabeth extended trembling hands. Reverently, she caressed the edges of the envelope. She would have snatched it from Billy’s grasp to tear it open, but Jane spoke first, and more rationally.

“We need to dress,” she said. “Billy, you shouldn’t even be here. Go on downstairs—we will meet you in the library, and we can all read it together.”

Elizabeth watched the precious envelope slip from her fingers. The door shut it out of her sight, but then she flew into motion. The dressing gown sailed across the room, and she commenced a hopping, shuffling sort of dance to pull on her stockings, garters, and stays.

“It must have got lost,” she postulated between garments. “Did you see a date? Only one letter, too! I wonder if there are more to come.”

“I am merely happy to see this one,” Jane declared. “I hope it is a good long one, with notes from everybody!”

They hurried down and found Billy setting a tea cart with one of the maids. He gestured proudly to his work. “Lady Matlock and Miss de Bourgh inform me that the only proper way to receive mail is in leisure, so that the words of those far away may be meditated upon with all due pleasure and solemnity.”

Elizabeth chuckled and patted his cheek playfully, but she declined a cup for herself. “I could not touch a drop until I have satisfied my curiosity.”

Billy handed her the envelope, and Jane gestured for Elizabeth to be the one to open it. Her hands quaking in excitement, she spread out the pages. “It is in Mary’s writing,” she announced, and then read aloud.

October 16, 1900

Dear Jane, Lizzy, and Billy,

I have been practising my penmanship so I may be a credit to you when I write. Alas, it is I who must write, as Mama insists on pacing behind my chair and dictating what she desires me to put down, and Kitty and Lydia have not the patience to write legibly. With the cost of posting a letter all the way to England, it is better that you should be able to read it when it arrives, although you ought to have no trouble with our aunt’s letter.

I have a bit of news. John Lucas has spoken with Papa, and we mean to marry in the spring. I believe I shall be quite happy as his wife, for he is a steady, sensible young man and well able to provide for a family. His one regret in marrying me was that I had no opportunity to learn any music, and he dearly cherishes a bit of song after a long day. Our uncle remedied that, in procuring for me a fiddle to learn upon, but I fear my efforts have yet to produce anything I could remotely term success. I am sure I will be proficient by the time I marry. For now, even our aunt prefers that I engage in my practice out of doors, and that her little dog must be secured in her room before I begin. Last week, it took us all afternoon to find him when he ran away, and Lydia was sure a coyote had got him.

Elizabeth stopped reading to snicker and to watch Jane trying to conceal her amusement. “Poor Mary!” Jane said.

“Our poor aunt, you mean!” Elizabeth rejoined. “It must make a dreadful screech when she practices, and if I know Mary, a half an hour will not suffice for her studies.”

“Oh, read on, Lizzy,” Billy urged.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and continued.

You will be pleased to hear that Kitty and Lydia have been tolerably well-mannered of late. With you all gone, and me engaged, Aunt has laid upon them a great deal of work at the general store. They complained miserably, as I am sure you might expect, and not a day passed for some while that Lydia did not insist her back was broken. However, they are much improved. Kitty can now keep an accurate inventory, and it has been at least two weeks now that Lydia has successfully made the till balance at the end of each day. Uncle says he means to pay them properly (rather than merely granting them a spending allowance) once they can manage on their own, to give some relief to our aunt. Lydia was particularly pleased with this, for they had got some new ribbon in that she liked especially, and these days she is nearly the best-dressed girl in town.

Elizabeth stopped reading and rolled the letter up over her hand with a puzzled expression.

“What is it, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Odd. Mary’s writing leaves off rather abruptly, and then Uncle’s writing resumes on the back of the same page. I wonder if another page was lost before they mailed it.”

“More likely they just got folded out of order. Perhaps Mary’s letter continues elsewhere,” Jane wondered. “Go on, what does Uncle say?”

Dear Jane and Lizzy,

Since Mary wrote the above, something has happened of a most grievous nature. It pains me greatly to be the bearer of such news, but…

Elizabeth’s legs gave out—simply failed. Her breast quaked, the letter fell, and she started to sob, then to shriek, “No! No, no, no—— NOOO!!! ” until her voice crumbled. She clutched a hand over her mouth, and a long whimpering gasp was the only sound she could make as her heart heaved and stormed.

“Lizzy!” Jane was at her side at once, dragging at her elbow and trying to pull her erect. “Lizzy, what is it?”

Tears blinded Elizabeth’s eyes, and her throat was too tight for words. She merely shook her head and whispered, “Papa!”

Jane’s colour drained. “Papa… Billy, what is it? Tell me the worst!”

Billy bent to reclaim the letter from the floor, and hesitantly, he read—only one line, before he, too, tumbled into a chair to knead his eyes.

…but your father has perished in a fire.

London

D arcy was at Anne’s flat precisely at eight the next evening with the carriage. He smiled and bowed as the door opened, expecting her, but it was only the manservant who greeted him. He was shown inside and asked to wait for her bejewelled and fur-decked figure to emerge. After much delay and amid the attendance of three maids, she finally strode out to greet him. She stopped dead when she beheld him.

“Upon my word, Darcy, what have you done to yourself?”

His brow furrowed, then in some recollection, he twitched his lip. “Yes, just a bit of diversion.”

She cast up her eyes in an aggrieved look and then breezed past him to the door. “I certainly hope it is not permanent.”

Darcy replaced his hat and followed her out. “I have not yet decided. How have you passed these last days in Town? I thought you would have called on us for tea.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You have not called on me, either.”

“Because there is no chaperone here,” he answered reasonably.

Anne gave a dismissive snort. “Darcy, we are betrothed, and what of it? Really, sometimes I wonder if you were born a century too late.”

He stifled a sigh as they reached the carriage and helped her to step up. A moment later, they were underway, and he watched her through the fog of their shared breath inside. She was a fair creature—high cheekbones, fashionably straight nose, even teeth, and a dainty chin. She carried herself with a rare and natural elegance, and even her voice and manner were cultured.

Far from an embarrassment, she was a desirable woman, even without her estate in Kent and fortune to rival his own. He really ought to be kissing her, testing the limits of her maidenly tolerance and the bounds of propriety… or at least, he should want to.

She tilted her head as she surveyed him. “It does not suit you.”

“What, this?” He touched his lip. “However not?”

“It makes you look like a youth, all fresh and innocent.”

He laughed. “This is a complaint?”

“But it makes you lack all sophistication.” She shook her head. “Really, you ought to speak with me before you undertake such drastic measures. Why, even Georgiana would have spoken against it, but I know your stubbornness well enough. You never consulted anyone, did you?”

“Do I need to consult anyone about my own face?”

“Of course, for whatever you do is now a reflection on me. I hope you do not undertake such decisions alone in the future, for I shall have something to say on the matter.”

Darcy set his teeth and stared straight ahead.

“Oh, now, what is this? Have I irritated you?”

“You have. You are put out with me over something so little as shaving off a bit of vanity that can be re-grown in a week if I desired—which I do not. But what of these plans you have made without consulting me?”

“Plans?” she asked innocently, but with a sportive smile that conceded her guilt.

“Yes, these plans that are supposed to be a surprise, but were of such a nature you could not entirely keep me in the dark, or you could never have carried them off. And so, you conscripted Lady Matlock to manage me.”

“Oh!” She laughed. “Yes, rather clever, was it not? I thought you would like that.”

“And why would you think so?”

“Why, darling, how could you not? Imagine it!”

“South America? Tell me what I have ever said or done to make you think I would wish to go there.”

“But it is the most exotic locale in the world, short of Asia. I knew I could never drag you to Thailand, but Buenos Aires? Have you seen the photographs, Darcy? Why, everyone who is anyone wishes to go there!”

“I am someone, and I do not.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you are such a stiff sometimes. I know travelling is not your passion, and I understand, but—”

“But you should have spoken to me before making such an unheard-of decision. Is it not my wedding tour as well you were planning?”

“Well! I see I shall have to be very careful not to offend. I never thought you were the type of man to dictate all his wife’s plans and ambitions.”

“I am not.”

“Then, what is this? You jump all over me for undertaking to plan a wedding tour when we both know perfectly well that you would not exert yourself to do it? Had you your way, we would simply take rooms in a different wing at Pemberley for a fortnight, and that would be the end of it.”

Darcy growled under his breath and forced his teeth to unclench. “Of course not. Because you have places you wish to go, I agreed to do as you desired, but I thought you would have discussed it with me first. You talked of other plans—plans which you also did not tell me of before announcing them to all—and then you said nothing when you decided on a whim to alter them. You should have spoken to me.”

“We never speak of anything. In fact, I cannot recall the last serious conversation we had.”

He nodded. “Well, perhaps that should change.”

Anne crossed her arms. “Perhaps, indeed.” Yet, instead of speaking, she turned to stare coldly at the window.

“Well?” he demanded, a trifle too harshly. “What is it you would like to speak of? Nothing? Very well, then, I shall begin. I wonder what you intend for a year from now. Five years?”

She frowned. “What can you mean by that?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. But tell me this, instead. What think you of my cousin’s son, Sebastien?”

“Sebastien! He is a perfect urchin. Why do you ask?”

“Because whenever the question arises, you practically shudder. You cannot abide children. You would far rather circumnavigate the globe, yet a child will be my chief requirement in our marriage.”

“Yes, yes,” she huffed impatiently. “We agreed to that long ago, so why do you ask me this now?”

“Did we? So, you will tolerate me long enough to produce one child? Perhaps I should pray your sufferings do not endure beyond the first few months.”

“Oh, really, Darcy. What do you take me for, an ice queen?”

He studied her—the bluish cast of her features in the dim of the carriage, the stony set of her lips… and looked away. “No.”

“You do—why, you are like granite yourself. Why do you not try to make love to me, Darcy? Why do you not embrace me, try to caress me?”

He shifted against the carriage seat. “I respect you.”

She angled her cheek to the side. “But you do not love me, nor do you even seem eager to see me when we have been apart. In fact, I think I would scarcely see any feeling from you at all if we were not among company.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean at Matlock, I believe I saw more pleasure and enjoyment in you than I have ever known you to possess. Where there are others as a diversion, you are…” She sniffed and looked away. “You are a different man than I thought you were.”

“Anne…”

“Darcy—” she put up a hand. “I am feeling out of sorts this evening. I am in no state to go to a festive dinner party.”

He groaned in frustration. “We cannot turn back without offending Lady Gresham.”

Anne lifted her chin. “If we carry on, we will only humiliate ourselves.”

He drew out a handkerchief. “Anne, forgive me. I did not intend to start a quarrel. Come, let us be rational, take a moment to collect ourselves. I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She glanced at the linen he offered, then shook her head. “It is no good. Take me home, Darcy.”

He stared at her in disbelief for another moment, then reluctantly rapped on the roof of the carriage to signal his driver. Not another word passed between them until they were outside her building, and he was handing her down once more.

“I will walk you up,” he offered in a husky voice.

She looked him in the face, then shook her head. “Not tonight.”

As she turned to go, he called after her, “What of Christmas Day? Do you still mean to take dinner with us?”

She did not answer—merely stopped and glanced back at him. “Lady Matlock is eager for my company again.” When she turned away, he almost imagined—or did he hear her mutter, “At least someone is.”