Page 8 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)

Chapter 8

Wyoming April 1900

A fortnight came and went, and the first train cars full of horses had started for the East Coast. The time had wrought some little improvement in affairs at the horse corrals. Richard drew his present mount to a halt and patted the animal’s neck in satisfaction. The larger number of them were wilful, disrespectful, and bored, as if the drills he asked of them were an insult. However, he had rarely discovered a hardier group of horses. Sure-footed, cautious, and intelligent nearly to a fault, they would be far better suited to carrying his men safely over the South African front than any rash, hot-blooded Thoroughbred. Perhaps the Army knew what it was about, after all.

“Corporal—” he gestured to one of his younger men as he dismounted. “Cool this one out and see that he gets to the water.”

“Yes, sir,” was the smart reply.

Richard drew back his shoulders, flexing his arms inside his uniform coat. Nothing but his dignity was stopping him from removing it in the dry summer heat. The Americans made do with light cotton shirts—without even a waistcoat while they worked—but not Richard. If the soldiers in Africa must keep their uniforms in all weather, then he and his men would as well.

He glanced about, surveying each of the men at their tasks. Bryson had disappeared, and Richard turned to search for him when his eye caught a familiar little pinto, tied to the rear of the smithy. He could not help a private smile. Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s face would be a pleasant diversion to his afternoon of dust and sweat.

He found her leaning against the anvil, her head bent beside her father’s as they admired a book of poetry. It was Keats today, if what he could read of the title was accurate. Bennet’s forge had gone black and cool, his duties forgotten as he read over his daughter’s shoulder. What a pretty picture they made; mutual delight over something so fine in the middle of a roughed-out blacksmith’s shop. Richard stopped, sensing himself an intruder, but not before they heard his entry.

“Ah, good afternoon, Colonel,” Miss Bennet greeted him. She closed the book—much to her father’s apparent disappointment—and slipped it into a basket at her feet.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.” He touched his hat to the lady, then her father. “I hope you are well today?”

She parted her lips to answer, her eyes slipping towards her father when Bryson’s surly voice sounded outside. “Where is he? Why is this horse not done? Bennet!”

Richard could not miss the way the lady tensed. She stiffened, then moved behind the anvil. Not in fear—no, that was not precisely right. It was rather as if she were marshalling her forces and gaining the high ground before a battle. Her chin lifted, and those remarkable eyes narrowed.

“Bennet, I haven’t got all day to stand around while you shoe my horse,” Bryson sputtered as he entered.

Mr Bennet calmly turned away, and though Richard could not see his face, the man appeared utterly unperturbed. “Were you in a hurry to go somewhere, Bryson? I expect you would want the horse’s shoes made of iron, but I had none left until my supplies arrived from town.”

Bryson had, by now, noted both Miss Bennet and Richard, and his manner sobered somewhat. “Well, you have it now,” he grumbled, after quickly doffing his hat to the lady. “That fool Collins left with the wagon half an hour ago. What’s the delay?”

“Well, now, if you would have some of your men come sort these bars, I might start again all the sooner. But can they tell high carbon iron from low?” Bennet turned long enough to divert a teasing chuckle to the other, then began methodically about his tasks.

Bryson’s bluster had left him, and he moved towards Miss Bennet. Richard, he ignored, though he was standing close enough to touch the lady.

“Miss Lizzy, what did you bring us all in your basket? I’ll wager you got some sweets from Mrs Gardiner in there.” He came close, the stench of his stale sweat wafting over Richard’s nostrils.

Miss Elizabeth held her composure rather well as she gathered her basket. “I am afraid it was nothing of the sort, Mr Bryson. I only brought a few comforts from home for my father. And now, I am afraid I must go.”

Bryson leaned his elbow on the anvil. “Don’t forget, Miss Lizzy, you promised me a dance tomorrow night.”

“I recall no such promise,” she answered mildly.

Richard glanced at Mr Bennet, who had half-turned to attend the conversation. He offered no paternal rebuttal to Bryson’s advances towards his daughter, but the knuckles with which he gripped his tongs were white. He met Richard’s eyes.

“You were going to ride with me,” Bryson continued. “Remember, Miss Lizzy? You said you’d think about it, and so, I’ll come pick you up in my wagon.”

A flicker of anger appeared in her eyes, and her mouth opened in indignation. She looked as if her next words would flay the tobacco-stained grin from Bryson’s grimy face—blood was about to be spilt if no one intervened, and Bennet seemed in no mind to play the father’s proper role.

“I am afraid there has been some misunderstanding,” Richard cut in.

Bryson, who had been pointedly ignoring him, turned in surprise. Miss Bennet and her father were also regarding him with interest.

Richard turned smoothly to Bryson. “I had asked if I might accompany the Bennets tomorrow evening. I know few people in town, and I was quite depending upon them to introduce me so I might the better join in the merriment. Miss Elizabeth has graciously promised that I shall not be forced to sit out the first dance, at least.”

A jealous curl lifted the man’s lip. He glared back at Richard, apparently trying to make him flinch or apologise, but Richard had not been trained to charge the cannon for nothing. He could hear Miss Elizabeth’s indrawn breath, and from the corner of his vision, he perceived Bennet’s watchful eye, but he stared steadily back until Bryson’s face crumpled in betrayal. “You’d better watch yourself, Colonel,” he hissed. “Keep to your own business.”

Richard only lifted a brow. Bryson turned away then, and as he left the smithy, they could hear him barking savagely at one of the hands for no apparent reason. The Bennets, both father and daughter, were regarding him in silence.

“I… I hope I have not caused a difficulty for you, madam.”

She glanced uncertainly at her father, then her brow smoothed, and she offered a blithe chuckle. “Nothing of lasting consequence, I am sure. I thank you for your efforts at ridding me of Bryson’s company, but I am quite able to do for myself.”

“Then I beg you would forgive my clumsy efforts at chivalry. I spoke the truth when I said I knew none in town, save yourselves, and a handful of others. I would be honoured if you would permit me to escort your family, Miss Elizabeth.”

She glanced once more to her father, who now approached with a sudden hesitancy. “Colonel, a word, please.”

Richard gestured his acceptance to step outside with the man, but Bennet shook his head. “I may speak freely before Elizabeth. I will not be attending the social tomorrow evening. I fear that it may go better for my daughters if… well, sir, someone must remain here to keep an eye on the horses. I drew the short straw, so to speak.”

“Are you charging me with your family’s protection, sir?”

Bennet snorted. “Hardly. My brother-in-law will make an admirable chaperone, and Lizzy and Jane are girls of good sense. I do not fear for them.”

“Then do you speak out of concern for your younger daughters? There are two more, is that correct?”

“Three. But no, my concern is not for them. It is you whom I would caution.”

Richard looked over his shoulder. “About Bryson? A blustering cowherd who will likely be too inebriated to walk straight, let alone threaten anyone?”

Bennet’s lips thinned. He held Richard’s gaze for another pulse beat, then his expression lightened. “Well, Lizzy, I shall miss seeing you in your finery tomorrow evening. I am certain you and Jane will be the prettiest girls in town, but do have some mercy on your poor papa and forego any descriptions of lace and ribbons. Do you suppose you might bring me that copy of Cowper on your next visit?”

Derbyshire August 1900

“I t was jolly good of you to come back to London with me, Darcy. I had not expected you could do so just now.” Bingley tossed his hat carelessly on the seat and settled himself with a satisfied sigh.

Darcy set his own hat and gloves down with his typical deliberation and took the opposite seat in the private car. “Matters there do not require my attention at present. I would do better to see how I can help the earl in searching for information regarding Richard—not to mention your questions about the shipping investments.”

“Yes, but you only arrived two days ago, did you not? Not even a full week at home before you come back with me? I tell you, Darcy, that is the mark of a true friend, and I shall not forget it. It is so very difficult to find good advice from one whose opinion I can trust.”

“You are quite welcome.” Darcy nodded uncomfortably and then turned his attention to the window.

“I say, Darcy, I should not have gone yet, if you had not insisted. I suppose it is for the best, as I must resolve this matter, but I should have been content to wait a day or two. I hope your guests do not think me rude for going so soon.”

“I doubt it,” Darcy answered shortly.

“Well… that is well. I do not like to think of a sweet girl like Miss Bennet feeling as if I did not enjoy her company.”

“I think you made your enjoyment quite clear.”

“I did?” Bingley’s forehead creased. “What do you know of her? I mean, she is not attached or anything, is she?”

“I do not believe so, but neither does she have plans to remain in England indefinitely.”

“Oh.” Bingley fell to gazing out of the opposite window.

Darcy watched him and sighed. The silly fellow had gone and done it—in one night, he had done it. What man fell in love at the first meeting with a poor country girl from the wrong side of the globe?

“But if her sister is married to Fitzwilliam,” Bingley suggested, “perhaps she might not return all at once. Do you suppose?”

“I cannot pretend to know the lady’s intentions.”

“I know what you are thinking, Darcy, and before you scowl and disapprove, let me say—”

“Stop there, Bingley. If I am scowling, it is not because I disapprove of your interest in Miss Bennet. Her character is still unknown to me, and her circumstances are even more of a mystery, but I know nothing—as yet—of which I can specifically warn you.”

“But you advise caution, I can see it. You think I should be more prudent in engaging her attention.”

Darcy rubbed his thumb and fingers together in thought as he sought the rolling landscape for some response. “For her good and for yours, yes, the caution is judiciously applied. You would do better in business if you chose a wife with more care for connections and fortune.”

“Bold words from a man pledged to one of the wealthiest heiresses in the kingdom. How long has it been, Darcy? Two years? One wonders whether you mean to actually wed the lady.”

“And one also wonders why you are speaking of marriage when you have met the lady only once,” Darcy retorted.

“As to that, I believe it was you who suggested marriage. I only wished to know Miss Bennet better. What is troubling you, Darcy? Are they a burden? Is Mrs Fitzwilliam a disappointment?”

He shook his head but did not answer.

“I know what it is. You are sick to death about Fitzwilliam, and their presence reminds you of it. That is why you are running back to London with me.”

“I cannot deny some truth in that.”

“Well—” Bingley toyed with his hat. “Surely, some news will come soon. I cannot fathom that there is absolutely nothing to be learned.”

“Agreed.” Darcy stroked his moustache, tugging on it and taking some relief in the mild sense of pain—pain that had the power to bring clarity to a point, to chastise the failings of his frame and focus his wandering thoughts.

“Will you return to Pemberley soon?” Bingley wondered. “I hate to be seen as begging an invitation, but…”

Darcy sighed. “I do not know. I do not… know anything.”

“L izzy—Lizzy, wake up!”

Elizabeth shot upright, filling her lungs with gasp after suffocating gasp of air that felt hot… sticky… and altogether too pressing. One hand twisted in the sheets, desperately tightening them about herself, while the other…

“Lizzy, it is me! It is Jane!”

Elizabeth froze, staring at the knotted fist she had been slinging at her own sister; the way Jane held one arm protectively over her face and tried to grasp at the threatening fist with the other.

Elizabeth swallowed and lowered her hand as she mumbled a confused apology.

“Is aught amiss, ma’am?” quaked a small voice from the end of the bed. “Shall I fetch a doctor, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth levered herself about and saw Margaret—pale and shaken in her nightdress, and apparently just awakened from her sleeping quarters off of Elizabeth’s room.

Jane steadied Elizabeth’s hand, securing the sheets, and waiting until her sister could focus on her face before answering in tones of forced lightness.

“I am certain it is nothing of concern, Margaret. Only a bad dream. Is that not right, Lizzy?”

Margaret’s eyes were still round and startling white in the shadowed room, but she bobbed her curtsey and composed herself with a quiet, “Yes, ma’am. Shall I bring some tea?”

Elizabeth found enough of her voice to decline the maid’s offer. “I will be quite all right, Margaret. Please, get some rest. I will try not to awaken you again.”

After Margaret had gone, Jane went to the basin and returned with a cool cloth. Elizabeth’s brow was dripping with sweat, and the inner parts of her cheeks raw and bleeding. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand and gratefully accepted the cloth.

“I am sorry to wake you again, Jane.”

Jane sank beside her on the pillow. “I had hoped the nightmares would stop, now that we are… well, we are perfectly safe here, are we not?”

Elizabeth sighed and cast the damp cloth on the floor. She ought to care—ought never to be so slovenly—but all her limbs seemed turned to water, and the last thing on her mind was a soiled cloth. She flopped back to the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Was I carrying on very dreadfully? I must have been to wake both you and Margaret from different rooms.”

“Worse than before,” Jane agreed. “You were crying for some while. I only heard it faintly at first, but by the time I was awake enough to understand that it was you, you had begun to thrash and shout. Poor Margaret came in carrying a bed warmer, thinking there was an attacker in your room.”

“Good heavens! I was shouting? What… what did I say?”

“Nothing anyone could repeat,” Jane reassured her. “Most of it was unintelligible. What terrified me was that I thought for a moment you truly meant to do me harm. Had I not managed to cover my face, I am sure you would have. You don't remember any of it?”

“No.” Elizabeth swallowed again—more of a sob—and rolled towards Jane. “I was dreaming, I think. All I remember was the feeling of being chased. They caught me in a corner—it was the same as all the times before, but this time there were more of them.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

Elizabeth squinted into the darkness. “They caught me, and they were dragging me… and I saw…” She gasped and bit the back of her fisted hand as the tears started to flow again. “And then that smell! The coppery one—oh, Jane, I'm going to be sick!”

Jane leapt from the bed, and only just in time to snatch a basin. Elizabeth heaved and retched, mostly in vain as her overtaxed body shook with paroxysms of terror and revulsion. Jane soothed the sweat-streaked hair from her brow and murmured comfort as Elizabeth finally collapsed back to the mattress.

“Lizzy, perhaps we should see a doctor. It seems to be getting worse.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “What can a doctor do? Nothing but prescribe Laudanum and keep me ill and weak all the time. I would rather be dead than in a forced stupor. Or an asylum! Have you heard what they are like? And besides—” Here, she turned away and pressed her face as deep into the pillow as she could. “If I told what was haunting me, I would never leave it behind. Richard’s family cannot know what happened—I cannot tell him…”

“Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth nodded into the pillow.

Jane stroked her shoulder in silence for a moment, then, “Perhaps he will understand. Has he not been kind so far?”

Elizabeth was mute for a long while. Yes, Mr Darcy had proved benevolent, and even agreeable, once one cracked through the thorny shell of his aristocratic indifference. But he had not been there —had not felt the fear, the urgency—could not possibly wish to continue extending his considerable protection to a woman whose own town had cast her out.

Perhaps he might have, had he seen… but he had not, and he was no longer in Derbyshire for her to confide in. None could speak for her, none could stand between her and all her fears save her faithful sister and well-intentioned but nearly useless cousin.

She pushed up from her pillow and turned back to Jane. Tears sparkled in her sister’s eyes, and Elizabeth clasped Jane’s hand in a mixture of remorse and gratitude. “Oh, Jane. How much you endured, following me as you did! I do not deserve you, you know.”

“Shh, don't say that. Anyone would do the same.”

“They would not. Precious few would ever dream of it. And look where we are now! What is to become of us? What would become of us if the wrong thing were heard? Oh! How I wish Richard were here. He would know how to say it all.”

“Yes! There would be nothing like having the man you love back—here, and safe. Dearest Lizzy, do not despair! I am sure he will come back to you.”

Elizabeth’s brow crumpled as she measured her sister’s words. “I… yes, I hope so.”